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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

"Martin Chuzzlewit"

Pecksniff!' repeated Mr Tapley, with ineffable disdain. 'What's
Pecksniff, who's Pecksniff, where's Pecksniff, that he's to be so much
considered? We're not a-calculating for ourselves;' he laid uncommon
emphasis on the last syllable of that word, and looked full in Martin's
face; 'we're making a effort for a young lady likewise as has undergone
her share; and whatever little hope we have, this here Pecksniff is not
to stand in its way, I expect. I never heard of any act of Parliament,
as was made by Pecksniff. Pecksniff! Why, I wouldn't see the man myself;
I wouldn't hear him; I wouldn't choose to know he was in company. I'd
scrape my shoes on the scraper of the door, and call that Pecksniff, if
you liked; but I wouldn't condescend no further.'
The amazement of Mrs Lupin, and indeed of Mr Tapley himself for that
matter, at this impassioned flow of language, was immense. But Martin,
after looking thoughtfully at the fire for a short time, said:
'You are right, Mark. Right or wrong, it shall be done. I'll do it.'
'One word more, sir,' returned Mark. 'Only think of him so far as not to
give him a handle against you.


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