She expected to
find the passage filled with people, come to tell her that the house in
the city had taken fire. But the place was empty; not a soul was there.
She opened the window, and looked out. Dark, dull, dingy, and desolate
house-tops. As she passed to her seat again, she glanced at the patient.
Just the same; but silent. Mrs Gamp was so warm now, that she threw off
the watchman's coat, and fanned herself.
'It seemed to make the wery bottles ring,' she said. 'What could I have
been a-dreaming of? That dratted Chuffey, I'll be bound.'
The supposition was probable enough. At any rate, a pinch of snuff, and
the song of the steaming kettle, quite restored the tone of Mrs Gamp's
nerves, which were none of the weakest. She brewed her tea; made some
buttered toast; and sat down at the tea-board, with her face to the
fire.
When once again, in a tone more terrible than that which had vibrated in
her slumbering ear, these words were shrieked out:
'Chuzzlewit! Jonas! No!'
Mrs Gamp dropped the cup she was in the act of raising to her lips, and
turned round with a start that made the little tea-board leap.
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