Do you see them?'
'Ah! I see 'em,' said Mrs Gamp; 'all the whole kit of 'em numbered like
hackney-coaches, an't they?'
'Touch me! Let me be sure of this. Touch me!'
'You'll take your next draught when I've made the kettle bile,' retorted
Mrs Gamp, composedly, 'and you'll be touched then. You'll be touched up,
too, if you don't take it quiet.'
'Five hundred and twenty-eight, five hundred and twenty-nine, five
hundred and thirty.--Look here!'
'What's the matter now?' said Mrs Gamp.
'They're coming four abreast, each man with his arm entwined in the next
man's, and his hand upon his shoulder. What's that upon the arm of every
man, and on the flag?'
'Spiders, p'raps,' said Mrs Gamp.
'Crape! Black crape! Good God! why do they wear it outside?'
'Would you have 'em carry black crape in their insides?' Mrs Gamp
retorted. 'Hold your noise, hold your noise.'
The fire beginning by this time to impart a grateful warmth, Mrs Gamp
became silent; gradually rubbed her nose more and more slowly along the
top of the fender; and fell into a heavy doze. She was awakened by the
room ringing (as she fancied) with a name she knew:
'Chuzzlewit!'
The sound was so distinct and real, and so full of agonised entreaty,
that Mrs Gamp jumped up in terror, and ran to the door.
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