'No, no,' resumed Mr Pecksniff, chafing the captive hand reproachfully,
'of virtue--have enabled me to set such guards upon myself, that it
is really difficult to ruffle me. It is a curious fact, but it is
difficult, do you know, for any one to ruffle me. And did she think,'
said Mr Pecksniff, with a playful tightening of his grasp 'that SHE
could! How little did she know his heart!'
Little, indeed! Her mind was so strangely constituted that she would
have preferred the caresses of a toad, an adder, or a serpent--nay, the
hug of a bear--to the endearments of Mr Pecksniff.
'Come, come,' said that good gentleman, 'a word or two will set this
matter right, and establish a pleasant understanding between us. I am
not angry, my love.'
'YOU angry!'
'No,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'I am not. I say so. Neither are you.'
There was a beating heart beneath his hand that told another story
though.
'I am sure you are not,' said Mr Pecksniff: 'and I will tell you why.
There are two Martin Chuzzlewits, my dear; and your carrying your anger
to one might have a serious effect--who knows!--upon the other.
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