'Oh, Chiv, Chiv!' added Mr Tigg, surveying his adopted brother with an
air of profound contemplation after dismissing this piece of pantomime.
'You are, upon my life, a strange instance of the little frailties that
beset a mighty mind. If there had never been a telescope in the world,
I should have been quite certain from my observation of you, Chiv,
that there were spots on the sun! I wish I may die, if this isn't the
queerest state of existence that we find ourselves forced into without
knowing why or wherefore, Mr Pecksniff! Well, never mind! Moralise as we
will, the world goes on. As Hamlet says, Hercules may lay about him with
his club in every possible direction, but he can't prevent the cats from
making a most intolerable row on the roofs of the houses, or the
dogs from being shot in the hot weather if they run about the streets
unmuzzled. Life's a riddle; a most infernally hard riddle to guess, Mr
Pecksniff. My own opinions, that like that celebrated conundrum, "Why's
a man in jail like a man out of jail?" there's no answer to it. Upon my
soul and body, it's the queerest sort of thing altogether--but there's
no use in talking about it.
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