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Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hi everyone. Welcome back. Don't you want to just give David a hug? I don't know. I feel very motherly toward David. I feel like I just want to give him a hug and say it's okay. Everybody goes off the rails every once in a while. Just get yourself back on track. I don't know. That's how I feel. After that chapter we'll talk about it. But before I do, I have a quick announcement which is that next week I am going to be away. I am traveling for my kids have spring break. We're traveling for Easter and spring break. So I'm not going to be here. But don't worry, that doesn't mean there won't be episodes or chapters. There will be, but it means that those episodes are going to be pre recorded. So today's is not today. I have your questions and I'm going to answer them. But in the episodes that are coming up, so the April 6 episode and the April 9 episode, I will be talking without your questions because I'm going to record them in advance and have them queued up for you so that you get them even though I'm not actually here. So I just wanted to let you know about that. I will alert you that that's what's going on in those episodes, but it's just going to be two episodes and then I'll be back. Please do keep your questions and comments coming though, because I would love to know how you're reacting to these comments chapters. Because if there's something that's been really on your minds, if I'm getting a lot of letters about a particular thing but I didn't cover it in my introduction, then I will bring them up when I'm back. So please do keep those questions and comments coming. It's faith k.moore.com and you click on Contact or you can scroll into the show notes and the same link is there. You can get in touch with me. So don't worry that the episodes are pre recorded. I still do want to hear from you and I will update you on what people are thinking about these chapters after I get back. But I am still here for now and so we are going to get right into it. Today we're reading chapter 25. Last time we read chapter 24. And before we do the recap, just please make sure you're subscribed. Please tap the five stars if you're enjoying the show. Tell a friend, tell everyone, leave a positive review, stand somewhere high up and shout about storytime for grownups. Whatever it is, please spread the word about the show and help us to find more people to talk to and with about great books. All right, here is the recap. All right, so where we left off. David is excited to be starting his new life, but he also finds it sort of lonely to be living all by himself in this apartment. Steerforth doesn't show up when he said he would, so David goes to his mother's house and is told that Steerforth went away with some friends from Oxford but will be back soon. He stays to dinner and he's so lonely that even Ms. Dardle starts to seem like good company to him. Eventually, Steerforth does show up at David's apartment, but says that he's got to hang out with these Oxford friends and he can't see David very much much. David invites Steerforth and his friends to dinner at his house and Steerforth agrees to bring them. David gets Mrs. Krupp, his landlady, to help him, but she just convinces him to buy everything so that she doesn't have to cook and to hire two people to help who turn out to be totally incompetent. At the dinner, everyone has a great time, but David gets very drunk and is taken to the theater by the other men, where he bumps into Agnes, who's very embarrassed and disapproving of David's drunkenness. Steerforth finally gets him home and helps him into bed, and David wakes up in the morning with a terrible hangover, feeling very embarrassed about how he behave. Okay, I'm going to read 4 comments today. The first one comes from our online community the Drawing Room, and this person goes by the handle avocjack. He says, I confess I don't know how much of the burden of cooking and sharing Mrs. Crup ought to have taken on, but she took on precious little of it. Also two bottles of wine and I suspect the majority of the Mock Turtle, also in his previous career, ordering a pint of the Barman's Best Reporter. This does sound like the first time David's been properly drunk. The next one comes from Maria Sire, I hope I'm saying that last name correctly. I'm sorry if I'm not. She says. My first thought on hearing the title. Remember, the title of this chapter was My First Dissipation. So my first thought on hearing the title was, you mean there's going to be more? You'd think he'd learn the first time. The next one comes from Joyce Sekia. I hope I'm saying that right as well. It turns out that Steerforth is just using Davey for his and his friend's amusement. I thought there might be a good side to him, but after this crazy dinner party where he keeps pouring wine for Daisy and then bringing him in a drunken state to a play, we see his true character. Davy should be wary of Steerforth, but I'm afraid he likes him too much. And this last one comes from Henry. He says, I felt a great fondness for David in this chapter. Yes, he was making a total idiot of himself, but it was also very relatable in a sort of young man's rite of passage. Okay, yes, I agree with Henry here. There is something so completely, completely relatable in David's first experience of debauchery, essentially, that it kind of tempers the embarrassment and humiliation that we might feel on David's part with a kind of fondness. That's a good word for it. It's like the fondness of an adult looking on indulgently at their child as he makes totally avoidable but totally age appropriate blunder and hopefully learns from it. And. And we've talked about this a few times now, but Dickens is so good at this. He's so good at tinging with humor and with good humor, meaning like a kind of cheerfulness and lovingness. He's so good at infusing these scenes with those feelings while still making us kind of cringe at David's behavior and hope he doesn't do this again. Because Avocjack is right. This is the first time that David has been properly drunk. And it's such a great description of getting drunk, isn't it? I mean, the narrator isn't drunk. We assum. I mean, adult David, wherever he's writing this, is probably not fall down drunk. But the narration has a kind of drunken quality which gets more and more pronounced as the chapter goes on. Here's just an example. It says somebody was smoking. We were all smoking. I was smoking. And trying to suppress a rising tendency to shudder, Steerforth had made a speech about me, in the course of which I had been affected almost to tears. I returned thanks and Hoped the present company would dine with me tomorrow and the day after each day at 5 o', clock that we might enjoy the pleasures of conversation and society through a long evening. I felt called upon to propose an individual. I would give them my aunt, Ms. Betsey Trotwood, the best of her sex. Okay, so it's wonderful writing, but it also captures David's total confusion and obliviousness to his drunkenness. Also because as havoc, Jack says, even though he has had alcohol many times before, since he was a very young child, he's never been drunk. So he's not entirely sure what's going on for most of the chapter. And he actually feels pretty great for most of it. He feels like he's this wonderful grown up man about town. And the writing captures both what's actually happening and how David feels. And that's not an easy task. And Dickens does it so well. And in the end, it's not like David causes any kind of irreparable damage or anything. The worst he does is like totally embarrass himself, which he definitely does do. But as Henry says, it is kind of a rite of passage. And of course we hope he doesn't make a habit of it, as Maria says. We hope that he doesn't mean he's going to start doing this all the time now, but as long as he learns from this and calms down a bit, it's not really the end of the world that this has happened. But I think it's interesting to look at what led up to this night of carousing and what its aftermath is, because I think both of those things reveal something about David's character that it might be worth looking at. So the first thing to point out is, is that David is very lonely, which is super relatable too, I think. I mean, he's so excited to start his new life as a gentleman on his own and to have his own chambers and a good job and all of this. But when push comes to shove, he now is actually on his own. And that's lonely. Particularly the nights are lonely when he doesn't have anyone to talk to or anywhere to go. And I don't know about you, but I can definitely relate to this. He says it was fine in the morning, particularly in the fine morning. It looked a very fresh, free life by daylight, still fresher and more free by sunlight. But as the day declined, the life seemed to go down too. I don't know how it was. It seldom looked well by candlelight. I wanted somebody to talk to Then I missed Agnes. I found a tremendous blank in the place of that smiling repository of my confidence. And it's interesting, I think, that it's Agnes in particular that he's missing, given that it's Agnes that he later bumps into at the theater and who kind of sets him straight, essentially, and makes him realize he's got to pull him together. But it makes sense. Agnes is his best friend. He calls her his more than sister, but she's his childhood playmate, and he misses her. And more than that, I think he misses feminine companionship. David is someone who has always gravitated toward women ever since his mother left, first by marrying Mr. Murdstone and then by dying. I think David has craved that kind of maternal, feminine energy that he gets from Agnes and from Miss Betsy in a different way. He even settled for Mrs. Macawer for a while when she was all that he had. He likes female company. It feels safe and comfortable to him, and he's missing that. I mean, he's so lonely for female company that he even thinks he might be falling a little in love with Miss Dardle. I mean, that's really desperate, right? Here's what he says. He says her appearance was exactly what I have described it when I first saw her. But the society of the two ladies was so agreeable and came so natural to me that I felt myself falling a little in love with her. I could not help thinking several times in the course of the evening I. And particularly when I walked home at night, what delightful company she would be in Buckingham Street. Okay, so he's lonely. He's missing Agnes. He wants a kind of stable, feminine influence. And here comes Steerforth now. Obviously, Steerforth is not a feminine influence. He's very much a manly influence. And so David goes from missing the calm, gentle Agnes to leaping head first into this very kind of frat boy evening. And then, of course, coming back around to Agnes at the end. So it's really wonderfully plotted, I think. But as Joyce says in her letter, this new Steerforth scene doesn't really do much to elevate him, in our opinion. I don't think we've been feeling all along like this isn't a great friendship for David. We're worried about how much David seems to idolize Steerforth. And we're worried about the fact that Steerforth doesn't really seem to care very much about anyone in particular. He's just going from, like, novelty to novelty and trying to amuse himself. And in this chapter, I agree with Joyce that it really? Seems like Steerforth cares far less for David than David cares for him. Remember, when David invites Steerforth to dinner, Steerforth says, I can't. Upon my life, there's nothing I should like better, but I must remain with these two fellows. We are all three off together tomorrow morning, which is ridiculous. If he wanted to leave these two fellows, he could. He's not, like, required by law to hang out with him. He's essentially saying he'd rather hang out with them than with David. But when David says that they should all come and dine with him, that sounds like a fun lark to steer forth. So he agrees. And I think what follows is kind of spurred on by David's loneliness in a way. I mean, yes, he idolizes Steerforth and would do whatever he could to give him a wonderful dinner party, but I think his kind of excitement and over the top planning and his sort of manic good humor in all of this is heightened by the fact that he hasn't had anyone to hang out with for several days. And to havoc Jack's question about how much Mrs. Krupp was supposed to do. She was supposed to do all of it. I mean, part of the arrangement is that she's supposed to cook for David and be a kind of like basic servant. And so cooking for this meal and setting and clearing the table and all of this is actually part of her job. But Mrs. Crump is lazy and she's a drunk as well, apparently, because, yes, she's stealing his wine and she convinces him to buy everything at a store instead of her cooking it so that she doesn't have to do anything. And then she persuades him to hire these other servants who are totally incompetent and also stealing from him. So it's another instance of David being taken advantage of by people who are meant to be helping him or who are employed to be helping him. And it just serves to remind us again that he's really very young and totally inexperienced in this sort of young gentleman about town kind of dinner party. And in this case, he really is kind of like the kid at the grown up table, because remember, Steerforth is like six years older than him or something. So when you're 17, that's a pretty big age gap. So in all kinds of ways, it really is like David's first attempts at being grown up. And understandably, I think he goes too far. I do think it's worth noting that part of Steerforth's character is that when he's actually with you, he treats you very Well, I mean, we just talked about how he doesn't seem to care about David as much as David cares about him. But when he's with David, he does do everything he can to help and support him. David says, here's a quote. He exerted himself so brilliantly to make the thing pass off well that there was no pause in our festivity. So he helps David to give a good dinner party, which really matters to David. And at the end of the evening, Steerforth does take him home and put him to bed, which he didn't have to do. So he cares for David, but in the way that Steerforth cares about anything, which is sort of flippantly. And then it's like out of sight, out of mind. But then, of course, we get this wonderful kind of 90s romcom like awkward moment of encountering Agnes at the theater while David is drunk out of his mind. He says, then I was being ushered into one of these boxes and found myself saying something as I sat down, and people about me crying silence to somebody, and ladies casting indignant glances at me and what? Yes, Agnes sitting on the seat before me in the same box with a lady and gentleman beside her whom I didn't know. I see her face now better than I did then, I dare say, with its indelible look of regret and wonder turned upon me. So it's kind of like a bucket of cold water, like, thrown over this whole experience, right? Because with Steerforth and his friends, David could pretend that he was this grown up gentleman having a grand old time. And Steerforth thought it was all very funny and he was humoring him. But to see himself through Agnes's eyes is to see the truth, because in reality he's falling down drunk and he looks ridiculous. And it's this clash of these two worlds, the drunken bacchanal with the staid ladies party at the theater. And Agnes tells him, I know you will do as I ask you if I you. I am very earnest in it. Go away now, Trotwood, for my sake, and ask your friends to take you home, because Agnes is his good angel, right? And she knows that he's got to get out of there before he makes a fool of himself any more than he already has. And the whole scene ends with the inevitable hangover and regret, as these types of experiences always do. He says, but the agony of mind, the remorse and shame I felt when I became conscious next day, my horror of having committed a thousand offences I had forgotten and which nothing could ever expiate. My recollection of that indelible look which Agnes had given me, the torturing impossibility of communicating with her, not knowing, beast that I was, how she came to be in London or where she stayed, my disgust of the very sight of the room where the revel had been held, my racking head, the smell of smoke, the sight of glasses, the impossibility of going out or even getting up. Oh, what a day it was. Okay, so to Maria's point of does it mean when it says my first dissipation that there will be more? We kind of hope not, right? We hope that he's learned his lesson and that he's going to now pick himself up and put himself back together and move forward having gotten that out of his system. That is our hope. Will it happen? We don't know. That remains to be seen. So let us see. Let us keep reading. But as I say, do please write to me. I will be away. So the next two episodes will be pre recorded, but they will come out as usual. But do write to me. It's faith k.moore.com click on contact. Send me all your questions and thoughts and I will get back to you individually and also I will share with you if there's anything coming up that I didn't cover in the pre recorded episodes. All right, let's get started with chapter 25 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 25 good and bad Angels I was going out at my door on the morning after that deplorable day of headache, sickness and repentance with an odd confusion in my mind relative to the date of my dinner party, as if a body of titans had taken an enormous lever and pushed the day before yesterday, some months back, when I saw a ticket porter coming upstairs with a letter in his hand. He was taking his time about his errand then, but when he saw me on the top of the stairs, I looking at him over the banisters, he swung into a trot and came up panting, as if he had run himself into a state of exhaustion. Tea, Copperfield Esquire, said the ticket porter, touching his hat with his little cane. I could scarcely lay claim to the name. I was so disturbed by the conviction that the letter came from Agnes, meaning he's not sure he wants to take the letter since he suspects it's from Agnes and that it's going to be a reprimand. However, I told him I was T. Copperfield Esq. And he believed it and gave me the letter, which he said required an answer Answer. I shut him out on the landing to wait for the answer and went into my chambers again in such a nervous state that I was fain to lay the letter down on my breakfast table and familiarize myself with the outside of it. A little before I could resolve to break the seal. I found when I did open it, that it was a very kind note containing no reference to my condition at the theatre. All it said was, my dear Trotwood, I am staying at the house of Papa's agent, Mr. Waterbrook, in Ely Place, Holborn. Will you come and see me today at any time you like to appoint? Ever yours affectionately, Agnes. It took me such a long time to write an answer at all to my satisfaction that I don't know what the ticket porter can have thought unless he thought I was learning to write. I must have written half a dozen answers at least. I began one. How can I ever hope, my dear Agnes, to efface from your remembrance the deceased disgusting impression There. I didn't like it and then I tore it up. I began another. Shakespeare has observed, my dear Agnes, how strange it is that a man should put an enemy into his mouth. That reminded me of Markham, and it got no farther. Markham is the friend of Steerforth, who was always referring to himself as a man. I even tried poetry. I began one note in a six syllable line, oh, do not remember, but that associated itself with the 5th of November and became an absurdity. So in England the 5th of November is a holiday having to do with the foiling of the Gunpowder Plot. And there's a rhyme that begins, remember, remember the 5th of November. After many attempts, I wrote, my dear Agnes, your letter is like you, and what could I say of it that would be higher praise than that? I will come at 4 o' clock affectionately and sorrowfully. T see, with this missive, which I was in 20 minds at once about recalling as soon as it was out of my hands, the ticket porter at last departed. If the day were half as tremendous to any other professional gentleman in doctor's commons as it was to me, I sincerely believe he made some expiation for his share in that rotten old ecclesiastical cheese. So he's saying that he's having the worst day of anyone else in the whole place where he works. Although I left the office at half past three and was prowling about the place of appointment within a few minutes afterwards, the appointed time was exceeded by a full quarter of an hour according to the clock of St. Andrew's Holborn before I could muster up Sufficient desperation to pull the private bell handle let into the left hand door post of Mr. Waterbrook's house. The professional business of Mr. Waterbrook's establishment was done on the ground floor floor, and the genteel business of which there was a good deal in the upper part of the house. I was shown into a pretty but rather close drawing room, and there sat Agnes, netting a purse. She looked so quiet and good, and reminded me so strongly of my airy fresh school days at Canterbury, and the sodden, smoky, stupid wretch I had been the other night that nobody being by, I yielded to my self reproach and shame, and in short, made a fool of myself. I cannot deny that I shed tears. To this hour I am undecided whether it was upon the whole the wisest thing I could have done or the most ridiculous. If it had been any one but you, Agnes, said I, turning away my head, I should not have minded it half so much, but that it should have been you who saw me. I almost wish I had been dead first. She put her hand. Its touch was like no other hand upon my arm for a moment, and I felt so befriended and comforted that I could not help moving it to my lips and gratefully kissing it. Sit down, said Agnes cheerfully. Don't be unhappy, Trotwood. If you cannot confidently trust me, whom will you trust? Ah, Agnes, I returned. You are my good angel. She smiled rather sadly, I thought, and shook her head. Yes, Agnes, my good angel. Always my good angel. If I were indeed Trotwood, she returned, there is one thing that I should set my heart on very much. I looked at her inquiringly, but already with a foreknowledge of her meaning. On warning you, said Agnes, with a steady glance against your bad angel. My dear Agnes, I began. If you mean Steerforth, I do. Trotwood, she returned. Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad angel, or anyone's. He anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me. My dear Agnes, now is it not unjust and unlike you to judge him from what you saw of me the other night? I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night, she quietly replied. From what, then? From many things. Trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so when they are put together. I judge him partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character and the influence he has over you. There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me. Answering to that sound alone, it was Always earnest. But when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work. I sat, seeming still to listen to her, and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. It is very bold in me, said Agnes, looking up again, who have lived in such seclusion and can know so little of the world to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood, in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you and not I, when I caution you that you have made a difference. Dangerous friend. Again I looked at her. Again I listened to her after she was silent. And again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. I am not so unreasonable as to expect, said Agnes, resuming her usual tone after a little while, that you will, or that you can at once change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you, least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of Mei mean with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew whyhe was going to interrupt her, to say that he does think of her all the time, as often as you think of me, to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this? I will forgive you, Agnes, I replied, when you come to do Steerforth justice and to like him as well as I do. Not until then, said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him. But she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. And when Agnes said I. Will you forgive me the other night when I recall it, said Agnes, meaning that she forgives him now, she would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened, that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. You must not forget said Agnes, calmly, changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded that you are always to tell me not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Ms. Larkins? Trotwood? No one, Agnes. Someone Trotwood? Said Agnes, laughing and holding up her finger. No, Agnes. Upon my word. There is a lady certainly at Mrs. Steerforth's house who is very clever and whom I like to talk to. Miss Dardle and. But I don't adore her. Agnes laughed again at her own penetration and told me that if I were faithful to her, in my confidence, she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens in the history of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. Uriah Heep? Said I. No. Is he in London? He comes to the office downstairs every day, returned Agnes. He was in London a week before me, I am afraid, on disagreeable business, Trotwood. On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes. I see, said I. What can that be? Agnes laid aside her work and replied, folding her hands upon one another and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers, I believe he is going to enter into partnership with Papa. What, Uriah, that mean fawning fellow worm himself into such a promotion. I cried indignantly. Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connection it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time. Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth, and then replied, you remember our last conversation about Papa? It was not long after that, not more than two or three days, when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry. Forced upon him, Agnes? Who forces it upon him? Uriah, she replied after a moment's hesitation, has made himself indispensable to Papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered Papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them until, to say all that, I mean, in a word, Trotwood, until Papa is afraid of him. There was more that she might have said, more that she knew or that she suspected. I clearly saw I could not give her pain by asking what it was for, I knew that she withheld it from me to spare her father. It had long been going on to this. I was sensible, yes. I could not but feel on the least reflection that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. So remember, Mr. Wickfield is an alcoholic of some kind. So it seems like Uriah is somehow manipulating him in that way. His ascendancy over Papa said Agnes, is very great. He professes humility and gratitude with truth, perhaps. I hope so. But his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes hard use of his power. I said he was a hound, which at the moment was a great satisfaction to me. At the time I speak of as the time when Papa spoke to me, pursued Agnes. He had told Papa that he was going away, that he was very sorry and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him. But he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it. And how did you receive it, Agnes? I did, Trotwood. She replied what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for Papa's peace, that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life. I hope it will. And that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood. Cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face as her tears started on it. I almost feel as if I had been Papa's enemy instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me has shadowed his life and weakened his strength and energy by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right, if I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline. I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father. And I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another. But I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say in a foolish, helpless manner. Pray, Agnes, don't. Don't, my dear sister. But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties, the beautiful calm manner which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else came back again as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. We are not likely to remain alone much longer, said Agnes, and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him, don't resent, as I think you have a general disposition to do what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of Papa and me. Agnes had no time to say more, for the room door opened and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady or who wore a large dress, I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady, came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern, but she appeared to remember me perfectly and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober and I hope that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably and inquired firstly if I went much into the parks, and secondly if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion. But she concealed the fact gracefully and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation and took my leave, making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and on the street door being opened, plunged into a vapor bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest, for I immediately identified the ticket porter in disguise, assisting the family servant and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked to the best of his ability when he asked me for it confidentially as if he had never seen me before. But well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle aged gentleman with a short throat and a good deal of shirt collar who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug dog. Dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance, and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me with much ceremony to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlets say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name, and her husband was there too. So cold a man that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female, which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company in a suit of black and in deep humility. He told me when I shook hands with him that he was proud to be noticed by me and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening. And whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. There were other guests, all iced for the occasion, as it struck me like the wine. But there was one who attracted my attention before he came in. On account of my hearing him announcement as Mr. Traddles. My mind flew back to Salem House. And could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons? I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair and eyes that were rather wide open. And he got into an obscure corner so soon that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook and said that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow here. Indeed? Said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. You are too young to have been at School with Mr. Henry Spiker. Oh, I don't mean him, I returned. I mean the gentleman named Traddles. Oh, ay, ay, indeed, said my host with much diminished interest. Possibly, if it's really the same person, said I, glancing towards him, it was at a place called Salem House where we were together. And he was an excellent fellow. Oh, yes, Traddles is a good fellow, returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration Traddles is quite a good fellow. It's a curious coincidence, said I. It is really, returned my host, Quite a coincidence that Traddles should be here at all as Traddles was only invited this morning when the place at table intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother became vacant in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man. Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield. I murmured an assent which was full of feeling considering that I knew nothing at all about him. And I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. Traddles returned. Mr. Waterbrook is a young man reading for the bar. Yes, he is quite a good fellow. Nobody's enemy but his own, is he? His own enemy? Said I. Sorry to hear this. Well, returned Mr. Waterbrook pursing up his mouth and playing with his watch chain in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth £500. Traddles was recommended to me by a professional friend. Oh yes? Yes. He has a kind of talent for drawing briefs and stating a case in writing plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles way in the course of the year. Something for him considerable. Oh yes? Yes. I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word. Yes, Every now and then there was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling ladder and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another. Until now. He looked from the top of the fortifications with the eye of a philosopher and a patron on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah Traddles and I, as the junior part of the company went down last how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs who greeted me with great fervour while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self abasement that I could gladly have pitched him over the banister. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in Two remote corners, he in the glare of a red velvet lady, I in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the aristocracy and blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us that if she had a weakness, it was blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel that our scope was very Limited. A Mr. And Mrs. Golpidge were of the party who had something to do at second hand. At least Mr. Gulpidge had with the law business of the bank, and what with the bank and what with the treasury were as exclusive as the court circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy and held forth in a desultory manner by herself on every topic that was introduced, produced. These were few enough to be sure. But as we always fell back upon blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been at a party of ogres. The conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. Sanguine means having to do with blood. I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion, said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wineglass at his eye. Other things are all very well in their way, but give me blood. Oh, there is nothing, observed Hamlet's aunt, so satisfactory to one. There is nothing that is so much one's beau ideal ofof all that sort of thing. Speaking generally, there are some low minds. Not many I am happy to believe. But there are some that would prefer to do what I should call bow down before idols, positively idols before service, intellect and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see blood in a nose and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, there it is. That's blood. It's an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt. Okay, so the blood that they're talking about here is like lineage and heredity and whether you come from a good family. The simpering fellow with the weak legs who had taken Agnes down stated the question more decisively. Yet I thought, oh, you know, deuce take it, said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile. We can't forego blood, you know. We must have blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes and all that, but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got blood in em. Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had blood in him than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't. So he's saying that the family you were born into, so your social class basically means more than anything else. This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that I observed that Mr. Golpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. That affair of the first bond for 4,500 pounds has not taken the course that was expected. Spiker, said Mr. Goldpidge. Do you mean the D of A's? Said Mr. Spiker. The sea of bees, said Mr. Golpage. Mr. Spiker raised his eyebrows and looked much concerned when the question was referred to Lord, I needn't name him, said Mr. Golpidge, checking himself. I understand, said Mr. Spiker. N Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded, was referred to him. His answer was money or no release. Lord, bless my soul. Cried Mr. Spiker. Money or no release? Repeated Mr. Goldpidge firmly, the next in reversion. You understand me? K. Said Mr. Spiker with an ominous look. K then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point blank refused to do it. Mr. Spiker was so interested that he became quite stony. So the matter rests at this hour, said Mr. Goldpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally on account of the magnitude of the interests involved. Okay, so these are two very important seeming people, and they're talking shop in a sort of ostentatiously opaque way. Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests and such names even hinted at across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence, though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did, and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own. Therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another in which it was Mr. Goldpitch's turn to be surprised, and and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation and our host regarded us with pride as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get upstairs to Agnes and to talk with her in a corner and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy but agreeable and the same good natured creature still as he was obliged to leave early on account of going away next morning. For a month I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished. But we exchanged addresses and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her, as she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home. I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her and hearing her sing was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful that I could have remained there half the night night. But having no excuse for staying any longer when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then more than ever that she was my better angel. And if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile as though they had shone on me from some removed being like an angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone, but I ought to have accepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went downstairs. He was close beside me when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms and have some coffee. Oh, really, Master Copperfield, he rejoined. I beg your pardon, Mr. Copperfield, but the other comes so natural. So Master implies that David is still a child while Mr. Implies that he's an adult. I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a number person like me to your house. There is no constraint in the case, said I. Will you come? I should like to very much, replied Uriah with a writhe. Well, then, come along, said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way without conversing much upon the road, and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves that he was still putting them on and seemed to have made no advance in that labor. When we got to my place, I led him up the dark stairs to prevent his knocking his head against anything. And really his damp, cold hand felt so like a frog in mine that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes. And hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him. And when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block tin vessel in which Mrs. Cropp delighted to prepare it, chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose being a shaving pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry, he professed so much emotion that I could joyfully have scalded him. Oh, really, Master Copperfield. I mean, Mr. Copperfield, said Uriah. To see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected. But one way and another, so many things happened to me, me which I never could have expected. I am sure, in my humble station that it seems to rain blessings on my head. You have heard something, I dare say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield. I should say, Mr. Copperfield, as he sat on my sofa with his long knees drawn up under his coffee cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots. I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. You have heard something, I dare say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield. I should say, Mr. Copperfield, observed Uriah. Yes, I said something. Ah. I thought Miss Agnes would know of it, he quietly returned. I am glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, master Mr. Copperfield. I could have thrown my bootjack at him. It lay ready on the rug for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. What a profit you have shown yourself, Mr. Copperfield, pursued Uriah. Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be. Don't you remember saying to me once that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business? And perhaps it might be Wakefield and Heap. You may not recollect it, but when a person is humble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up. I recollect talking about it, said I, though I certainly did not think it very likely then. Oh, who would have thought it likely, Mr. Copperfield, returned Uriah enthusiastically. I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly. He sat with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire as I looked at him. But the humblest persons, Master Copperfield, he presently resumed, may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh, what a worthy man he is, Mr. Copperfield. But how important prudent he has been. I am sorry to hear it, said I. I could not help adding rather pointedly, on all accounts. Decidedly so, Mr. Copperfield, replied Uriah. On all accounts, Miss Agnes's above all. You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield, but I remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her and. And how I thanked you for it. You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield. No, said I drily. Oh, how glad I am you have not, exclaimed Uriah. To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition in my humble breast, and that you've not forgot it. Oh, would you excuse me asking for a cup more coffee? Something in the emphasis he laid upon the kindling of those sparks, and something in the glance he directed at me as he said it, had made me start as if I had seen him illuminated by a blaze of light, recalled by his request, preferred in quite another tone of voice. I did the honours of the shaving pot, but I did them with an unsteadiness of hand, a sudden sense of being no match for him, and a perplexed suspicious anxiety as to what he might be going to say next, which I felt could not escape his observation. He said nothing at all. He stirred his coffee round and round. He sipped it. He felt his chin softly with his grisly hand. He looked at the fire. He looked about the room. He gasped rather than smiled at me. He writhed and undulated about in his deferential servility. He stirred and sipped again, but he left the renewal of the conversation to me. So, Mr. Wickfield, said I at last, who is worth 500 of you or me for my life? I think I could not have helped. Dividing that part of the sentence with an awkward jerk has been imprudent, has he, Mr. Heep? Oh, very imprudent indeed, Master Copperfield, returned Uriah, sighing modestly. Oh, very much so. But I wish you'd call me Uriah, if you please. It's like old times. Well, Uriah, said I, bolting it out with some difficulty. Thank you, he returned with fervor. Thank you, Master Copperfield. It's like the blowing of old breezes or the ringing of old belses to hear you say Uriah. I beg your pardon, Was I making an observation about Mr. Wickfield? I suggested. Oh yes, truly, said Uriah. Ah, great imprudence, Master Copperfield. It's a topic that I wouldn't touch upon to any soul but you. Even to you I can only touch upon it, and no more. If anyone else had been in my place during the last few years, by this time he would have had Mr. Wickfieldoh. What a worthy man he is, Master Copperfield too. Under his thumb. Under his thumb, said Uriah, very slowly as he stretched out his cruel looking hand above my table and pressed his own thumb upon it until it shook and shook the room. If I had been obliged to look at him with splay foot on Mr. Wickfield's head, I think I could scarcely have hated him more. Meaning, if Uriah had been actually stepping on Mr. Wickfield head as he said this, David would have felt just as much hatred for him as he feels now. Oh dear, yes, Master Copperfield, he proceeded in a soft voice most remarkably contrasting with the action of his thumb, which did not diminish its hard pressure in the least degree. There's no doubt of it. There would have been loss, disgrace, I don't know what at all. Mr. Wickfield knows it. I am the humble instrument of humbly serving him, and he puts me on an eminence I hardly could have hoped to reach. How thankful I should be with his face Turned towards me as he finished, but without looking at me, he took his crooked thumb off the spot where he had planted it and slowly and thoughtfully scraped his lank jaw with it as if he were shaving himself. I recollect well how indignantly my heart beat as I saw his crafty face with the appropriately red light of the fire upon it. Preparing for something else, Master Copperfield? He began, but am I keeping you up? You're not keeping me up. I generally go to bed late. Thank you, Master Copperfield. I have risen from my humble station since first you used to address me, it's true, but I am humble still. I hope I shall never be otherwise than humble. You will not think the worse of my umble is if I make a little confidence to you, Master Copperfield, will you? Oh, no, said I with an effort. Thank you. He took out his pocket handkerchief and began wiping the palms of his hands. Miss Agnes. Master Copperfield. Well, Uriah. Oh, how pleasant to be called Uriah. Spontaneously he cried and gave himself a jerk like a convulsive fish. You thought her looking very beautiful tonight, Master Copperfield. I thought her looking, as she always does, superior in all respects to everyone around her. I returned. Oh, thank you. It's so true. He cried. Oh, thank you very much for that. Not at all, I said loftily. There is no reason you should thank me. Why, that, Master Copperfield, said Uriah, is in fact the confidence that I am going to take the liberty of reposing, Humble as I am. He wiped his hands harder and looked at them and at the fire. By turns, humble as my mother is, and lowly as our poor but honest roof has ever been the image of Miss Agnes. I don't mind trusting you with my secret, Master Copperfield, for I have always overflowed towards you since the first moment I had the pleasure of beholding you in a pony shay has been in my breast for years. Oh, Master Copperfield, with what a pure affection do I love the ground my Agnes walks on. I believe I had the delirious idea of seizing the red hot poker out of the fire and running him through with went from me with a shock like a ball fired from a rifle. But the image of Agnes outraged by so much as a thought of this red headed animal's remained in my mind. When I looked at him sitting all awry, as if his mean soul griped his body and made me giddy, he seemed to swell and grow before my eyes. The room seemed full of the echoes of his voice and the strange feeling to which Perhaps no one is quite a stranger. That all this had occurred before at some indefinite time and that I knew what he was going to say next, took possession of me. A timely observation of the sense of power that there was in his face did more to bring back to my remembrance the entreaty of Agnes in its full force than any effort I could have made. I asked him, with a better appearance of composure than I could have thought possible a minute before, whether he had made his feelings known to Agnes. Oh no, Master Copperfield. He returned. Oh, dear Nonot, to anyone but you. You see, I am only just emerging from my lowly station. I rest a good deal of hope on her, observing how useful I am to her father, for I trust to be very useful to him indeed, Master Copperfield, and how I smooth the way for him and keep him straight. She's so much attached to her father, Master Copperfield. Oh, what a lovely thing it is in a daughter that I think she may come on his account to be kind to me. I fathomed the depth of the rascal's whole scheme and understood why he laid it bare. If you'll have the goodness to keep my secret, Master Copperfield, he pursued, and not in general to go against me, I shall take it as a particular favor. You wouldn't wish to make un pleasantness? I know what a friendly heart you've got, but having only known me on my umble footing, on my umblest I should say, for I am very humble still, you might unbeknown, go against me rather with my Agnes. I call her mine. You see, Master Copperfield, there's a song that says I'd crowns resigned to call her mine. I hope to do it one of these days. Dear Agnes, so much too loving and too good for any one that I could think of. Was it possible that she was reserved to be the wife of such a wretch as this? There's no hurry at present, you know, Master Copperfield. Uriah proceeded in his slimy way as I sat gazing at him with this thought in my mind. My Agnes is very young still and mother and me will have to work our way up upwards and make a good many new arrangements before it would be quite convenient. So I shall have time gradually to make her familiar with my hopes as opportunities offer. Oh, I'm so much obliged to you for this confidence. Oh, it's such a relief. You can't think to know that you understand our situation and are certain as you wouldn't wish to make unpleasantness in the family. Not to go against me. So Uriah is clearly worried that David had plans to marry Agnes, and so he's telling him all of this and kind of threatening him, saying that if David tries to marry him, then he'll make an enemy of Uriah. He took the hand which I dared not withhold, and having given it a damp squeeze, referred to his pale faced watch. Dear me, he said, it's past one the moments slip away so in the confidence of old times, Master Copperfield, that it's almost half past one. I answered that I had thought it was later, not that I had really thought so, but because my conversational powers were effectually scattered. Dear me, he said, considering the house that I am stopping at, a sort of a private hotel and boarding house, Master Copperfield, near the New River. Ed will have gone to bed these two hours. I am sorry I returned, that there is only one bed here, and that I. Oh, don't think of mentioning beds, Master Copperfield, he rejoined ecstatically, drawing up one leg. But would you have any objections to my laying down before the fire? If it comes to that, I said, pray take my bed, and I'll lie down before the fire. His repudiation of this offer was almost shrill enough in the excess of its surprise and humility to have penetrated to the ears of Mrs. Crupp. Then, sleeping, I suppose, suppose in a distant chamber situated at about the level of low water, Mark soothed in her slumbers by the ticking of an incorrigible clock to which she always referred me when we had any little difference on the score of punctuality, and which was never less than three quarters of an hour too slow, and had always been put right in the morning by the best authorities, as no arguments I could urge in my bewildered condition had the least effect upon his modesty. In inducing him to accept my bedroom, I was obliged to make the best arrangements I could for his repose before the fire. The mattress of the sofa, which was a great deal too short for his lank figure, the sofa pillows, a blanket, the table cover, a clean breakfast cloth, and a great coat, made him a bed and covering, for which he was more than thankful, having lent him a nightcap, which he put on at once, and in which he made such an awful figure that I have never worn one since I left him to his rest. I shall never forget that night. I shall never forget how I turned and tumbled, how I wearied myself with thinking about Agnes and this creature. How I considered what could I do, and what ought I to do? How I could come to no other conclusion than that the best course for her peace was to do nothing and to keep to myself what I had heard. If I went to sleep for a few moments, the image of Agnes with her tender eyes and of her father looking fondly on her, as I had so often seen him look, arose before me with appealing faces and filled me with vague terrors. When I awoke, the recollection that Uriah was lying in the next room sat heavy on me like a waking nightmare and oppressed me with a leaden dread, as if I had had some meaner quality of devil for a lodger. The poker got into my dozing thoughts besides, and wouldn't come out. I thought between sleeping and waking that it was still red hot and I had snatched it out of the fire and run him through the body. I was so haunted at last by the idea, though I knew there was nothing in it, that I stole into the next room to look at him. There I saw him lying on his back with his legs extending to I don't know where, gurglings taking place in his throat, stoppages in his nose, and his mouth open like a post office. He was so much worse in reality than in my distempered fancy that afterwards I was attracted to him in very repulsion and could not help wandering in and out every half hour or so and taking another look at him. Still, the long, long night seemed heavy and hopeless as ever, and no promise of day was in the murky sky. When I saw him going downstairs early in the morning, for thank heaven he would not stay to breakfast, it appeared to me as if the night was going away in his person. When I went out to the Commons, I charged Mrs. Crop with particular directions to leave the windows open that my sitting room might be aired and purged of his presence. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website, faithkmoore.com, click on Contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the show notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the show notes. You can learn more about me, check out our merch store, or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. It's produced, recorded and marketed by me. So I need your help. Spread the word about the show by posting about it on social media or texting a link to your friends. Subscribe, tap those five stars and leave a positive review wherever you're listening. If you are able to support the show financially, there's a link in the show notes to make a donation. I would really really appreciate it. Alright everyone, story time is over to be continue.