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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

"Martin Chuzzlewit"

'Neighbours in
the swamp, neighbours in the bush, neighbours in the fever. Didn't she
nurse us! Didn't he help us! Shouldn't we both have died without 'em!
Haven't they come a-strugglin' back, without a single child for their
consolation! And talk to me of neighbours!'
Away he went again, in a perfectly wild state, hugging them, and
skipping round them, and cutting in between them, as if he were
performing some frantic and outlandish dance.
Mr Chuzzlewit no sooner gathered who these people were, than he burst
open the coach-door somehow or other, and came tumbling out among them;
and as if the lunacy of Mr Tapley were contagious, he immediately began
to shake hands too, and exhibit every demonstration of the liveliest
joy.
'Get up, behind!' he said. 'Get up in the rumble. Come along with me! Go
you on the box, Mark. Home! Home!'
'Home!' cried Mr Tapley, seizing the old man's hand in a burst of
enthusiasm. 'Exactly my opinion, sir. Home for ever! Excuse the liberty,
sir, I can't help it. Success to the Jolly Tapley! There's nothin' in
the house they shan't have for the askin' for, except a bill.


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