'No, no,' said Tom.
'You're sure you're not cold'
'Not at all!' cried Tom.
'I am quite ready, then.'
Mr Pinch accordingly, after turning over the leaves of his book with as
much care as if they were living and highly cherished creatures, made
his own selection, and began to read. Before he had completed fifty
lines his friend was snoring.
'Poor fellow!' said Tom, softly, as he stretched out his head to peep
at him over the backs of the chairs. 'He is very young to have so much
trouble. How trustful and generous in him to bestow all this confidence
in me. And that was she, was it?'
But suddenly remembering their compact, he took up the poem at the place
where he had left off, and went on reading; always forgetting to snuff
the candle, until its wick looked like a mushroom. He gradually became
so much interested, that he quite forgot to replenish the fire; and was
only reminded of his neglect by Martin Chuzzlewit starting up after the
lapse of an hour or so, and crying with a shiver.
'Why, it's nearly out, I declare! No wonder I dreamed of being frozen.
Do call for some coals.
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