A caution from Mr Tapley; a hasty interchange of farewells, and of
something else which the proverb says must not be told of afterwards;
a white hand held out to Mr Tapley himself, which he kissed with the
devotion of a knight-errant; more farewells, more something else's; a
parting word from Martin that he would write from London and would do
great things there yet (Heaven knows what, but he quite believed it);
and Mark and he stood on the outside of the Pecksniffian halls.
'A short interview after such an absence!' said Martin, sorrowfully.
'But we are well out of the house. We might have placed ourselves in a
false position by remaining there, even so long, Mark.'
'I don't know about ourselves, sir,' he returned; 'but somebody else
would have got into a false position, if he had happened to come back
again, while we was there. I had the door all ready, sir. If Pecksniff
had showed his head, or had only so much as listened behind it, I would
have caught him like a walnut. He's the sort of man,' added Mr Tapley,
musing, 'as would squeeze soft, I know.'
A person who was evidently going to Mr Pecksniff's house, passed them at
this moment.
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