There were two
good-tempered burly draymen letting down big butts of beer into a
cellar, somewhere; and when John helped her--almost lifted her--the
lightest, easiest, neatest thing you ever saw--across the rope, they
said he owed them a good turn for giving him the chance. Celestial
draymen!
Green pastures in the summer tide, deep-littered straw yards in the
winter, no start of corn and clover, ever, to that noble horse who WOULD
dance on the pavement with a gig behind him, and who frightened her, and
made her clasp his arm with both hands (both hands meeting one upon the
another so endearingly!), and caused her to implore him to take
refuge in the pastry-cook's, and afterwards to peep out at the door so
shrinkingly; and then, looking at him with those eyes, to ask him was
he sure--now was he sure--they might go safely on! Oh for a string of
rampant horses! For a lion, for a bear, for a mad bull, for anything to
bring the little hands together on his arm again!
They talked, of course. They talked of Tom, and all these changes and
the attachment Mr Chuzzlewit had conceived for him, and the bright
prospects he had in such a friend, and a great deal more to the same
purpose.
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