John Westlock and Mark Tapley accompanied
them. Mrs Gamp had tottered out first, for the better display of her
feelings, in a kind of walking swoon; for Mrs Gamp performed swoons of
different sorts, upon a moderate notice, as Mr Mould did Funerals.
'Ha!' muttered Slyme, looking after them. 'Upon my soul! As insensible
of being disgraced by having such a nephew as myself, in such a
situation, as he was of my being an honour and a credit to the family!
That's the return I get for having humbled my spirit--such a spirit as
mine--to earn a livelihood, is it?'
He got up from his chair, and kicked it away indignantly.
'And such a livelihood too! When there are hundreds of men, not fit to
hold a candle to me, rolling in carriages and living on their fortunes.
Upon my soul it's a nice world!'
His eyes encountered Jonas, who looked earnestly towards him, and moved
his lips as if he were whispering.
'Eh?' said Slyme.
Jonas glanced at the attendant whose back was towards him, and made a
clumsy motion with his bound hands towards the door.
'Humph!' said Slyme, thoughtfully.
Pages:
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484