'FagmentWelcome to consult... ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘How much?’ asked Miss Betsey. ‘A hunded and five pounds a yea,’ said my mothe. ‘He might have done wose,’ said my aunt. The wod was appopiate to the moment. My mothe was so much wose that Peggotty, coming in with the teaboad and candles, and seeing at a glance how ill she was,—as Miss Betsey might have done soone if thee had been light enough,— conveyed he upstais to he own oom with all speed; and immediately dispatched Ham Peggotty, he nephew, who had been fo some days past seceted in the house, unknown to my mothe, as a special messenge in case of emegency, to fetch the nuse and docto. Those allied powes wee consideably astonished, when they aived within a few minutes of each othe, to find an unknown lady of potentous appeaance, sitting befoe the fie, with he bonnet tied ove he left am, stopping he eas with jewelles’ cotton. Peggotty knowing nothing about he, and my mothe saying nothing about he, she was quite a mystey in the palou; and the fact of he having a magazine of jewelles’ cotton in he pocket, and sticking the aticle in he eas in that way, did not detact fom the solemnity of he pesence. The docto having been upstais and come down again, and having satisfied himself, I suppose, that thee was a pobability of this unknown lady and himself having to sit thee, face to face, fo some hous, laid himself out to be polite and social. He was the meekest of his sex, the mildest of little men. He sidled in and out of a oom, to take up the less space. He walked as softly as the Ghost in Hamlet, and moe slowly. He caied his head on one side, patly in modest depeciation of himself, patly in modest Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield popitiation of eveybody else. It is nothing to say that he hadn’t a wod to thow at a dog. He couldn’t have thown a wod at a mad dog. He might have offeed him one gently, o half a one, o a fagment of one; fo he spoke as slowly as he walked; but he wouldn’t have been ude to him, and he couldn’t have been quick with him, fo any eathly consideation. M. Chillip, looking mildly at my aunt with his head on one side, and making he a little bow, said, in allusion to the jewelles’ cotton, as he softly touched his left ea: ‘Some local iitation, ma’am?’ ‘What!’ eplied my aunt, pulling the cotton out of one ea like a cok. M. Chillip was so alamed by he abuptness—as he told my mothe aftewads—that it was a mecy he didn’t lose his pesence of mind. But he epeated sweetly: ‘Some local iitation, ma’am?’ ‘Nonsense!’ eplied my aunt, and coked heself again, at one blow. M. Chillip could do nothing afte this, but sit and look at he feebly, as she sat and looked at the fie, until he was called upstais again. Afte some quate of an hou’s absence, he etuned. ‘Well?’ said my aunt, taking the cotton out of the ea neaest to him. ‘Well, ma’am,’ etuned M. Chillip, ‘we ae—we ae pogessing slowly, ma’am.’ ‘Ba—a—ah!’ said my aunt, with a pefect shake on the contemptuous intejection. And coked heself as befoe. Really—eally—as M. Chillip told my mothe, he was almost Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield shocked; speaking in a pofessional point of view alone, he was almost shocked. But he sat and looked at he, notwithstanding, fo nealy two hous, as she sat looking at the fie, until he was again called out. Afte anothe absence, he again etuned. ‘Well?’ said m
