The old man looked no less steadily at Mr
Pecksniff.
'When I ordered you to leave this house upon the last occasion of your
being dismissed from it with disgrace,' said Mr Pecksniff; 'when,
stung and stimulated beyond endurance by your shameless conduct to this
extraordinarily noble-minded individual, I exclaimed "Go forth!" I told
you that I wept for your depravity. Do not suppose that the tear which
stands in my eye at this moment, is shed for you. It is shed for him,
sir. It is shed for him.'
Here Mr Pecksniff, accidentally dropping the tear in question on a
bald part of Mr Chuzzlewit's head, wiped the place with his
pocket-handkerchief, and begged pardon.
'It is shed for him, sir, whom you seek to make the victim of your
arts,' said Mr Pecksniff; 'whom you seek to plunder, to deceive, and to
mislead. It is shed in sympathy with him, and admiration of him; not in
pity for him, for happily he knows what you are. You shall not wrong
him further, sir, in any way,' said Mr Pecksniff, quite transported with
enthusiasm, 'while I have life. You may bestride my senseless corse,
sir.
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