'Snores deep?' repeated Jonas. 'Yes; let him alone for that. He'll snore
for six, at any time.'
'Do you know, Mr Jonas,' said Pecksniff, 'that I think your father
is--don't let me alarm you--breaking?'
'Oh, is he though?' replied Jonas, with a shake of the head which
expressed the closeness of his dutiful observation. 'Ecod, you don't
know how tough he is. He ain't upon the move yet.'
'It struck me that he was changed, both in his appearance and manner,'
said Mr Pecksniff.
'That's all you know about it,' returned Jonas, seating himself with a
melancholy air. 'He never was better than he is now. How are they all at
home? How's Charity?'
'Blooming, Mr Jonas, blooming.'
'And the other one; how's she?'
'Volatile trifler!' said Mr Pecksniff, fondly musing. 'She is well, she
is well. Roving from parlour to bedroom, Mr Jonas, like a bee, skimming
from post to pillar, like the butterfly; dipping her young beak into our
currant wine, like the humming-bird! Ah! were she a little less giddy
than she is; and had she but the sterling qualities of Cherry, my young
friend!'
'Is she so very giddy, then?' asked Jonas.
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