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brought out her work-box to her own table in the open window,

‘I don’t care who it is!’ cried my aunt, still shaking her head and

away I was so far from being warned off from Peggotty’s society,

‘I am not fond of professions of humility,’ I returned, ‘or

and speak out!’

about me, and a pledge to write three times a week and faithfully

What can I do? She doen’t ought to know any such, but I can’t

partly on the path, upon his face Whether he fell out in a fit, or got

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

me into tears I remember that I sat resting my head upon my

‘Clara, my dear,’ he said, when I had done his bidding, and he

surprised to find him a meeker man than I had thought, and less

whenever, at short intervals, she applied it to her eyes with both

receive this communication Still more so, by its contents Still

roaming up and down with little Em’ly, telling her my troubles,

the road; a house with long low lattice-windows bulging out still

theer, I wandered on as I had done afore The people was just as

Murdstone are already acquainted’

David Copperfield

‘lives down in Devonshire—one of ten Consequently, I am not so

here to the left, out of this gate,’ tracing his finger along the