'Rouge yourself, and look up! Come!' said Mrs Gamp. 'Here's company, Mr
Chuffey.'
'I am sorry for it,' cried the old man, looking humbly round the room.
'I know I'm in the way. I ask pardon, but I've nowhere else to go to.
Where is she?'
Merry went to him.
'Ah!' said the old man, patting her on the check. 'Here she is. Here she
is! She's never hard on poor old Chuffey. Poor old Chuff!'
As she took her seat upon a low chair by the old man's side, and put
herself within the reach of his hand, she looked up once at Tom. It
was a sad look that she cast upon him, though there was a faint smile
trembling on her face. It was a speaking look, and Tom knew what it
said. 'You see how misery has changed me. I can feel for a dependant
NOW, and set some value on his attachment.'
'Aye, aye!' cried Chuffey in a soothing tone. 'Aye, aye, aye! Never mind
him. It's hard to hear, but never mind him. He'll die one day. There
are three hundred and sixty-five days in the year--three hundred and
sixty-six in leap year--and he may die on any one of 'em.'
'You're a wearing old soul, and that's the sacred truth,' said Mrs Gamp,
contemplating him from a little distance with anything but favour, as he
continued to mutter to himself.
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