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… Page 490…
Bleak House 490
to see you as a Doctor? That ain’t like being worn out。 I should
think not! Now I tell you what you want。 You want excitement;
you know; to keep you up; that’s what you want。 You’re used to it;
and you can’t do without it。 I couldn’t myself。 Very well; then;
here’s this warrant got by Mr Tulkinghorn of Lincoln’s Inn Fields;
and backed into half…a…dozen counties since。 What do you say to
coming along with me; upon this warrant; and having a good
angry argument before the magistrates? It’ll do you good; it’ll
freshen you up; and get you into training for another turn at the
Chancellor。 Give in? Why I am surprised to hear a man of your
energy talk of giving in。 You mustn’t do that。 You’re half the fun of
the fair; in the Court of Chancery。 George; you lend Mr Gridley a
hand; and let’s see now whether he won’t be better up than
down。”
“He is very weak;” said the trooper; in a low voice。
“Is he?” returned Bucket; anxiously。 “I only want to rouse him。
I don’t like to see an old acquaintance giving in like this。 It would
cheer him up more than anything if I could make him a little waxy
with me。 He’s welcome to drop into me; right and left; if he likes。 I
shall never take advantage of it。”
The roof rang with a scream from Miss Flite; which still rings in
my ears。
“O no; Gridley!” she cried; as he fell heavily and calmly back
from before her。 “Not without my blessing。 After so many years!”
Then the sun was down; the light had gradually stolen from the
roof; and the shadow had crept upward。 But; to me; the shadow of
that pair; one living and one dead; fell heavier on Richard’s
departure; than the darkness of the darkest night。 And through
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Richard’s farewell words I heard it echoed。
“Of all my old associations; of all my old pursuits and hopes; of
all the living and the dead world; this one poor soul alone comes
natural to me; and I am fit for。 There is a tie of many suffering
years between us two; and it is the only tie I ever had on earth that
Chancery has not broken!”
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Chapter 25
Mrs Snagsby Sees It All
here is disquietude in Cook’s Court; Cursitor Street。 Black
suspicion hides in that peaceful region。 The mass of
T
Cook’s Courtiers are in their usual state of mind; no better
and no worse; but; Mr Snagsby is changed; and his little woman
knows it。
For; Tom…all…Alone’s and Lincoln’s Inn Fields persist in
harnessing themselves; a pair of ungovernable coursers; to the
chariot of Mr Snagsby’s imagination; and Mr Bucket drives; and
the passengers are Jo and Mr Tulkinghorn; and the complete
equipage whirls through the Law Stationery business at wild
speed; all round the clock。 Even in the little front kitchen where
the family meals are taken; it rattles away at a smoking pace from
the dinner table; when Mr Snagsby pauses in carving the first slice
of the leg of mutton baked with potatoes; and stares at the kitchen
wall。
Mr Snagsby can not make out what it is that he has had to do
with。 Something is wrong; somewhere; but what something; what
may come of it; to whom; when; and from which unthought…of and
unheard…of quarter; is the puzzle of his life。 His remote
impressions of the robes and coronets; the stars and garters; that
sparkle through the surface…dust of Mr Tulkinghorn’s chambers;
his veneration for the mysteries presided over by that best and
closest of his customers; whom all the Inns of Court; and Chancery
Lane; and all the legal neighbourhood agree to hold in awe; his
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remembrance of Detective Mr Bucket with his forefinger; and his
confidential manner impossible to be evaded or declined;
persuade him that he is a party to some dangerous secret; without
knowing what it is。 And it is the fearful peculiarity of this
condition; that; at any hour of his daily life; at any opening of the
shop…door; at any pull of the bell; at any entrance of a messenger;
or any delivery of a letter; the secret may take air and fire;
explode; and blow up—Mr Bucket only knows whom。
For which reason; whenever a man unknown comes into the
shop (as many men unknown do); and says; “Is Mr Snagsby in?”
or words to that innocent effect; Mr Snagsby’s heart knocks hard
at his guilty breast。 He undergoes so much from such inquiries;
that when they are made by boys he revenges himself by flipping
at their ears over the counter; and asking the young dogs what
they meant by it; and why they can’t speak out at once? More
impracticable men and boys persist in walking into Mr Snagsby’s
sleep; and terrifying him with unaccountable questions; so that
often; when the cock at the little dairy in Cursitor Street breaks
out in his usual absurd way about the morning; Mr Snagsby finds
himself in a crisis of nightmare; with his little woman shaking him;
and saying; “What’s the matter with the man!”
The little woman herself is not the least item in his difficulty。 To
know that he is always keeping a secret from her; that he has;
under all circumstances; to conceal and hold fast a tender double
tooth; which her sharpness is ever ready to twist out of his head;
gives Mr Snagsby; in her dentistical presence; much of the air of a
dog who has a reservation from his master; and will look anywhere
rather than meet his eye。
These various signs and tokens; marked by the little woman;
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are not lost upon her。 They impel her to say; “Snagsby has
something on his mind!” And thus suspicion gets into Cook’s
Court; Cursitor Street。 From suspicion to jealousy; Mrs Snagsby
finds the road as natural and short as from Cook’s Court to
Chancery Lane。 And thus jealousy gets into Cook’s Court; Cursitor
Street。 Once there (and it was always lurking thereabout); it is
very active and nimble in Mrs Snagsby’s breast—prompting her to
nocturnal examinations of Mr Snagsby’s pockets; to secret
perusals of Mr Snagsby’s letters; to private researches in the Day
Book and Ledger; till; cash…box; and iron safe; to watchings at
windows; listenings behind doors; and a general putting of this
and that together by the wrong end。
Mrs Snagsby is so perpetually on the alert; that the house
becomes ghostly with creaking boards and rustling garments。 The
’prentices think somebody may have been murdered there; in
bygone times。 Guster holds certain loose atoms of an idea (picked
up at Tooting; where they were found floating among the
orphans); that there is buried money underneath the cellar;
guarded by an old man with a white beard; who cannot get out for
seven thousand years; because he said the Lord’s Prayer
backwards。
“Who was Nimrod?” Mrs Snagsby repeatedly inquires of
herself。 “Who was that lady—that creature? And who is that boy?”
Now; Nimrod being as dead as the mighty hunter whose name Mrs
Snagsby has appropriated;