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Book The Second - Reaping | Charles Dickens | |
Chapter III - The Whelp |
Page 3 of 4 |
'Perfectly delightful. And she gets on so placidly.' 'Oh,' returned Tom, with contemptuous patronage, 'she's a regular girl. A girl can get on anywhere. She has settled down to the life, and she don't mind. It does just as well as another. Besides, though Loo is a girl, she's not a common sort of girl. She can shut herself up within herself, and think - as I have often known her sit and watch the fire - for an hour at a stretch.' 'Ay, ay? Has resources of her own,' said Harthouse, smoking quietly. 'Not so much of that as you may suppose,' returned Tom; 'for our governor had her crammed with all sorts of dry bones and sawdust. It's his system.' 'Formed his daughter on his own model?' suggested Harthouse. 'His daughter? Ah! and everybody else. Why, he formed Me that way!' said Tom. 'Impossible!' 'He did, though,' said Tom, shaking his head. 'I mean to say, Mr. Harthouse, that when I first left home and went to old Bounderby's, I was as flat as a warming-pan, and knew no more about life, than any oyster does.' 'Come, Tom! I can hardly believe that. A joke's a joke.' 'Upon my soul!' said the whelp. 'I am serious; I am indeed!' He smoked with great gravity and dignity for a little while, and then added, in a highly complacent tone, 'Oh! I have picked up a little since. I don't deny that. But I have done it myself; no thanks to the governor.' 'And your intelligent sister?' |
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Hard Times Charles Dickens |
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