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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. Hello. Welcome back. Oh boy. We have another cliffhanger. We ended on a cliffhanger. And I've been getting your letters and I know that everyone is freaking out about Miss Betsy because we love Miss Betsy. I love Miss Betsy. And it turns out that Miss Betsy is ruined. And what does this mean? So we are going to talk about that today and then we're going to keep reading. It's kind of a long chapter, so I will try not to talk too much here at the beginning. But I will just remind you that we have two new items in the merch store. We have Barkis is Willing Merch and we have Janet Donkey's merch. I'm really excited about it. I think I'm going to get the Janet Donkey's sweatshirt, I think. And we also have stickers now for a variety of designs. I know some of you asked for that. So I'm gonna get the just the story time for Grown Ups logo to put on my computer. I'm gonna get the sticker to put on my computer. I'm really excited about that. And so please do check out the merch store. It's very easy to find. You just scroll into the show notes, there's a link there. You can find all the designs that are there plus the new ones. And you can see all the different kinds of things that you can get these designs on. And I hope you'll pick something up and proudly wear or take your Storytime merch with you. And hopefully somebody will say, hey, what? What does that mean? Or what's story time for Grown Ups? And then you can tell them and we can get more people listening to this show, more people with whom we can talk about these great books. Because that is wonderful. 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I was texting recently with a friend that I haven't talked to in a while, someone who lives somewhere else, not near me, and we were texting, and she was asking me how the podcast is going, and I said, you know, it is ridiculous how much I love doing this podcast. I love doing it so, so much. And it's because of you guys. It's because I know you're out there listening. I know that we're doing this together. I love getting your letters. I love introducing these books to you or sharing them with you in this new way. And it's just. It means the world to me. So thank you so much, always, always, for being here. Thank you. I could not do this without you. This podcast is nothing without you. It's just me talking into the void if. If you're not there. And so it brings me so much joy. And so thank you. Thank you for bringing me the joy that you bring me and for being here and listening to this show. Okay, let's do the show. Let's get into this. So last time we read chapter 34, we ended on a cliffhanger. So today we're going chapter 35. So let's remind ourselves of what we read. We'll talk for a little bit. There's a couple of things that we need to go over, and then we'll get into this chapter. But first, here is the recap. Okay, so where we left off, David writes to Agnes about his engagement to Dora, and Agnes writes back. And David feels so glad that he's got her in his life. He learns that he's had several visits from Traddles while he's been away, and Peggy has been talking to him about David. Mrs. Krupp refuses to work for David while Peggy is there, and David feels too scared of Mrs. To do anything about this, but of course, continues to let Peggy stay. Eventually Traddles stops by while David is there and he tells David that the macabre's have had to take on an assumed name and that he, Tradles, isn't living with them anymore, but he did have to help them pay the bills he put his name on and now his furniture that he was saving for his marriage to Sophie has been taken away. He tells David all about Sophie and her family and he asks if Peggy will help him to buy the furniture back if he gives her the money because the shopkeeper will charge Traddles too. He sees him there, Peggy agrees and they go and buy the things back for Tradles, who's very happy to have them. When Peggy and David get back to his rooms, they find Ms. Betsy and Mr. Dick there and it comes out that Ms. Betsy has somehow lost all her money and the luggage she's brought with her is all she has in the world. She asks to stay with David for the night and says that they can work things out in the morning. All right, I'm going to read 4 comments today. The first one comes from Elizabeth. She says, I feel like David was trying to convince Agnes that Dora is going to make a good wife. As if maybe he feels like she won't or as if he needs Agnes's approval before he can feel okay with this engagement. But also in trying to tell Agnes how serious he is about Dora, he comes across as kind of ridiculous. Is that the point here? Are we supposed to feel that way? Or are we supposed to be on board with Dora as David's chosen wife? The next one comes from John. He says I laughed out loud at the description of Traddles fiance's family. I think Traddles is a much better friend for David than Steerforth. The third one comes from Meg Longley. She says what? Aunt Betsy ruined. Oh my goodness. What next? Dickens has plenty of plates spinning and the last one comes from our online community the Drawing Room. And this person goes by the handle Ashleyh. She says, oh man, I want to be Miss Betsy when I grow up. We must meet for verses boldly. Who couldn't use her reminder at the end of the chapter? So curious what's going to happen here. Okay, so yes, like I was saying a minute ago, we left off on a cliffhanger. Miss Betsy is ruined but we don't know how or why or what it all means. But I want to touch on a few other things from this chapter first before we get into what is going on with Miss Betsy. Because even though the fact that Miss Betsy is ruined. Meaning, by the way, that she seems to have lost all of her money somehow. So even though that is clearly the most dramatic part of this chapter, there were a few other things going on that I want to make sure that we talk about. And that's why I chose the other two letters, Elizabeth's and John' as well, because they hit on the other aspects that I think it's worth discussing. So this chapter comes right in the aftermath of David's official engagement to Dora. Or I guess not exactly official, because they're still keeping it a secret and Mr. Spenlo doesn't know. So they're still essentially playing at being engaged. I guess we talked about that last time. Right. But it comes right after Dora and David have professed their love to each other and made their relationship in some way official. They're like boyfriend and girlfriend, basically, if we want to put it into a modern context. But Elizabeth is right. In trying to tell Agnes in a letter all about how wonderful Dora is, David ends up sounding just as over the top and ridiculous as he always sounds when he talks about any girl that he's fallen madly in love with, of which there have been many. Right. In other words, in trying to convince Agnes that this is not just another one of his silly passions, he makes his relationship with Dora sound a lot like one of his silly passions. Right. Here's what he says. I wrote to Agnes as soon as Dora and I were engaged. I wrote her a long letter in which I tried to make her comprehend how blessed I was and what a darling Dora was. I entreated Agnes not to regard this as a thoughtless passion which could ever yield to any other or had the least resemblance to the boyish fancies that we used to joke about. I assured her that its profundity was quite unfathomable and expressed my belief that nothing like it had ever been known. I mean, that's ridiculous, right? That his love for silly, childish Dora is so profound that no one in the history of the whole world has ever loved someone as profoundly. I mean, come on. So David is still living very much in the world of kind of ardent romantic. He's still dreamy, foppish David, right. Aspiring to be like a knight in shining armor or something, with no sense at all of how ridiculous he seems to people and how he's done and said exactly these things or things very much like them before. To him, Dora is the only person he's ever loved, even though the other girls were also the only people he had ever Loved. And the effect that writing to Agnes has on David is really interesting, I think, because it's in the heat of this kind of feverish passion that he feels for Dora and this sense of being sort of unable to express the magnitude of his love and this kind of frenzied sense that everything must be the most, the biggest, the best, the only, or whatever. Writing to Agnes actually makes him feel calm. And her influence, even just thinking about her, it brings him to a sense of something much calmer, much more realistic, much more healthy, I would say. Here's what he Somehow, as I wrote to Agnes on a fine evening by my open window, and the remembrance of her clear, calm eyes and gentle face came stealing over me, it shed such a peaceful influence upon the hurry and agitation in which I had been living lately, and of which my very happiness partook in some degree that it soothed me into tears. I remember that I sat resting my head upon my hand when the letter was half done, cherishing a general fancy, as if Agnes were one of the elements of my natural home, as if in the retirement of the house made almost sacred to me by her presence, Dora and I must be happier than anywhere. As if in love, joy, sorrow, hope or disappointment in all emotions, my heart turned naturally there and found its refuge and best friend. So it's interesting, I think, that this woman, this more than sister, this angel, this person that David sees is almost otherworldly. But essentially this other woman makes him feel completely at peace. She soothes his agitation. He feels that she's his home. She's the person he turns to in joy and sorrow and love, and yet she is not the person that he is romantically in love with. He doesn't see her that way at all. And instead his romantic feelings are turned toward this person who, like we talked about last time, is very sweet, very pretty, but ultimately sort of silly. So Elizabeth asks, are we supposed to be on board with David's feelings for Dora? And. And I mean, I don't know. You tell me. How do you feel about them? Right. Last time it seemed like we were feeling pretty much that we don't really see this relationship with Dora lasting, but David sure seems to think it will, at least at this point in the story. So will it? And if it doesn't, what then? Right? All of those questions are still up in the air, and it's okay to not exactly know how to feel here. But I agree that David isn't really making a great case for himself here, even though that's exactly what he's trying to do in writing to Agnes. And also I agree that it's interesting that David has. Has all these feelings about Agnes while he's telling her about Dora. And it's interesting also I think that after the chapter we had before this one, so chapter 33, which was all about Dora and David's engagement to Dora, we get this chapter, chapter 34, and in it this picture of Traddles's fiance and his relationship with her and her family. Now, I agree with John. This is hilarious. This is Dickens at his very best. He is so wonderful at creating these funny, but also really warm and wonderful family circles. They're all over his books and his writing. And Sofie's family is one of these. She's got 10 siblings. One's an invalid, one's a beauty, but irritable. Two of them are children. The mother is also an invalid and Sofie is taking care of them all. And it's really funny how Traddles keeps explaining all their ailments and their issues, and every time he's explained about one, there's another one with some other issue. I mean, here's what he says about the mother, okay? He says she is a very superior woman indeed, but the damp country is not adapted to her constitution. And in fact, she has lost the use of her limbs. I mean, generally being an invalid isn't funny, but this whole section really is. Because the whole idea is that Sophie can't marry Traddles because she's the only one in her family who seems capable of doing anything at all. Everyone else has, like a mysterious ailment, or they need her for some reason, or they're too young to take care of themselves. And all this stuff just keeps piling on top of each other. And it's very funny. And Traddles is very funny about it because he sees the best in everyone and he doesn't have a bad word to say about anything. But of course, we can see that really, Sophie's family is being kind of unreasonable and they should let Sofie get married and learn to fend for themselves, right? But in all of this, what also comes out is that unlike Dora, Sofie seems to be a very capable sort of person. If her family ever does allow her to marry Traddles, we get the sense that she will be a good, good housekeeper, a good mother, that she's a sensible and capable sort of woman. So in that sense, perhaps Traddles choice of fiance is a bit more practical than David's choice. Although of course, that remains to be seen. But While Traddles fiance might be more on top of things than David's fiance, it actually seems like David has a bit more common sense than Traddles. Because Traddles has allowed himself to get mixed up in all of Mr. Macawer's debts. And the table and the flower pot that he so lovingly purchased for his eventual home with Sophie. They've been confiscated. Right? Because Mr. Macawer couldn't pay off his debt and Traddles had signed on to the loan as a guarantor. Traddles is still so trusting and so giving. Was just sort of like how David used to be and sometimes still is. But it does kind of show us that even though David is still very innocent and quite silly with Dora, he has grown up a lot since we first met him. Traddles has done what David knows not to do here. Right. He says Mrs. Macawer was in such a dreadful state that I really couldn't resist giving my name to that second bill we spoke of here. You may imagine how delightful it was to my feelings, Copperfield to see the matter settled with it and Mrs. Macawber recover her spirits. Okay. So Traddles still doesn't really understand that the Micawbers will never have money to pay off their debts. Even though David does see that Traddles says one thing I ought to mention which I like very much in Mr. Micawber, Copperfield. It refers to the second obligation which is not yet due to. He. Don't tell me that it is provided for. But he says it will be. Now I think there is something very fair and honest about that. Okay. But of course it won't be right. Mr. Macawber won't be able to pay off that debt either. And now Traddles is a guarantor on that as well. So David may be silly in love, but he might be learning a thing or two in terms of how to not be taken advantage of in the world. And he's very pleased to be able to help his friend. With Peggy's help. Right? To get back the furniture and to caution him about the macabre again. So he says. I told him that my old nurse would delighted to assist him and that we would all three take the field together. But on one condition. That condition was that he should make a solemn resolution to grant no more loans of his name or anything else to Mr. Micawber. So it's interesting, I think that this chapter goes from David's feelings about Dora and Agnes to Traddles engagement with Sophie and his feelings about that to Traddles money problems and David helping with that to Ms. Betsy's money problems. It's sort of like a game of connect the dots or something. One thing leads to a similar thing, which leads to to something else, which leads to something that's similar to that. And which leaves us at this cliffhanger, which is that Miss Betsy has packed up everything she owns, which doesn't seem to be very much, and come to David because somehow she has lost all her money and is ruined. Here's what it then why, my love, said my aunt, looking earnestly at me, why do you think I prefer to sit upon this property of mine tonight? I shook my head, unable to guess. Because, said my aunt, it's all I have. Because I'm ruined, my dear, okay? And as Meg says in her letter, this is a total shock. It comes totally out of left field. But of course, if we think about this from a narrative perspective, we might have guessed that some sort of wrench was about to get thrown into things, right? Because things were looking pretty good for David now that he's finally got Dora to agree to marry him. So narratively, something's got to go wrong. And so here we are. But we don't actually really know where here is yet, because we don't totally know what it will mean for Miss Betsy or Mr. Dick or for David himself. Because remember, Miss Betsy pays for David's rooms. She paid for his job at Doctors Commons. She pays for his clothes and food and everything. David doesn't make any money, remember, he's essentially in an unpaid apprenticeship with Mr. Spenlow. So Miss Betsy's money troubles are going to affect David in one way or another. And Miss Betsy knows this, and she says it's the only part of this that actually upsets, besets her, right? It says. I was roused from my amazement and concern for her, I am sure for her by her falling on my neck for a moment and crying that she only grieved for me. Okay, so it all remains to be seen exactly how ruined she is, how it happened, and what, if anything, they can do about it. But as Ashley says, Miss Betsy is handling this with her usual excellent character. Here's what she we must meet reverses boldly and not suffer them to frighten us, my dear. We must learn to act the play out. We must live misfortune down trot. And I mean, that's really good advice, don't you think? Like in any situation, I feel like I want to copy that down and stick it to my wall or something. I could certainly benefit from that advice, and I imagine a lot of people could. And like Ashley says, Ms. Betsy is just awesome. I actually think she's one of my favorite characters, if not my actual favorite character in this book. I love her and I love what she's done for David. And so it remains to be seen whether she can get out of this, whether David can help her, and what it all means for all of our friends in the book. So let's not hang off this cliff any longer. Let's keep reading and see if we get any more information about all this. We might not, right? That's happened to us before. But let's see. It's a long chapter, so hopefully we get some more information. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faithkmoore.com and click on Contact. Or you can scroll into the show notes and click the link that's there. And I would love to hear from you. I really want to know what your reactions are to this chapter and what you're thinking and whatever the questions you have. So please do get in touch. All right, let's get started with chapter 35 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 35 depression as soon as I could recover my presence of mind, which quite deserted me in the first overpowering shock of my aunt's intelligence, I proposed to Mr. Dick to come round to the chandler's shop and take possession of the bed which Mr. Pagetty had lately vacated. The chandler's shop being in Hungerford Market, and Hungerford Market being a very different place in those days. There was a low wooden colonnade before the door, not very unlike that before the house where the little man and woman used to live in the old weather glass, which pleased Mr. Dick mightily referencing here a sort of mechanical weather predictor, shaped like a house with a little man and a little woman figurine inside, which would move in various ways depending on the weather. So the outside of this shop looks like that. The glory of lodging over this structure would have compensated him, I dare say, for many inconveniences, but as there were really few to bear beyond the compound of flavours I have already mentioned, and perhaps the want of a little more elbow room, he was perfectly charmed with his accommodation. Mrs. Crupp had indignantly assured me that there wasn't room to swing a cat there, but as Mr. Digg justly observed to me, sitting down on the foot of the bed, nursing his leg. You know, Trotwood, I don't want to swing a cat. I never do swing a cat. Therefore, what does that signify to me? I tried to ascertain whether Mr. Dick had any understanding of the causes of this sudden and great change in my aunt's affairs. As I might have expected, he had none at all. The only account he could give of it was that my aunt had said to him the day before yesterday, now, Dick, are you really and truly the philosopher? I take you for that. Then he had said, yes. He hoped so. That my aunt had said, dick, I am ruined. That then he had said, oh, indeed. That then my aunt had praised him highly, which he was glad of. And that then they had come to me. And had had bottled porter and sandwiches on the road. Mr. Dick was so very complacent. Sitting on the foot of the bed, nursing his leg. And telling me this with his eyes wide open and a surprised smile. That I am sorry to say I was provoked into explaining to him. That ruin meant distress, want and starvation. But I was soon bitterly reproved for this harshness. By seeing his face turn pale and tears course down his lengthened cheeks. While he fixed upon me a look of such unutterable woe. That it might have softened a far harder heart than mine. I took infinitely great pains to cheer him up again. That I had taken to depress him. Him. And I soon understood, as I ought to have known at first. That he had been so confident. Merely because of his faith in the wisest and most wonderful of women. And his unbounded reliance on my intellectual resources. The latter, I believe, he considered a match for any kind of disaster not absolutely mortal. What can we do, trotwood? Said Mr. Dick. There's the memorial. To be sure, there is, said I. But all we can do just now, Mr. Dick, is to keep a cheerful countenance. And not let my aunts see that we are thinking about it. He assented to this in the most earnest manner. And implored me, if I should see him wandering an inch out of the right course. To recall him by some of those superior methods which were always at my command. But I regret to state that the fright I had given him. Proved too much for his best attempts at concealment. All the evening his eyes wandered to my aunt's face. With an expression of the most dismal apprehension. As if he saw her growing thin on the spot. He was conscious of this and put a constraint upon his head. But his keeping that immovable and sitting, rolling his eyes like a piece of machinery did not mend the matter at all. I saw him look at the loaf at supper, which happened to be a small one, as if nothing else stood between us and famine and when my aunt insisted on his making his customary repast, I detected him in the act of pocketing fragments of his bread and cheese. I have no doubt for the purpose of reviving us with those savings, when we should have reached an advanced state of attenuation, meaning an advanced stage of loss. My aunt, on the other hand, was in a composed frame of mind, which was a lesson to all of us. To me, I am sure she was extremely gracious to Peggotty, except when I inadvertently called her by that name, and strange as I knew she felt in London, appeared quite at home. She was to have my bed, and I was to lie in the sitting room to keep guard over her. She made a great point of being so near the river in case of a conflagration, and I suppose really did find some satisfaction in that circumstance. Trot, my dear, said my aunt, when she saw me making preparations for compounding her usual night draft. No, nothing, aunt. Not wine, my dear. Ale. But there is wine here, aunt, and you always have it made of wine. Keep that in case of sickness, said my aunt. We mustn't use it carelessly. Trot ale for me. Half a pint. I thought Mr. Dick would have fallen insensible. My aunt being resolute, I went out and got the ale myself. As it was growing late, Peggotty and Mr. Dick took that opportunity of repairing to the chandler's shop together. I parted from him, poor fellow, at the corner of the street with his great kite at his back, a very monument of human misery. My aunt was walking up and down the room when I returned, Crimping the borders of her nightcap with her fingers. I warmed the ale and made the toast on the usual infallible principles. When it was ready for her, she was ready for it, with her nightcap on and the skirt of her gown tucked back on her knees. My dear, said my aunt after taking a spoonful of it, it's a great deal better than wine. Not half so bilious. I suppose I look doubtful, for she added. Tut, tut, child, if nothing worse than ale happens to us, we are well off. I should think so myself. And I am sure, said I. Well, then, why don't you think so? Said my aunt. Because you and I are very different people. I returned. Stuff and nonsense, Trot, replied my aunt. My aunt went on with a quiet enjoyment in which there was very little affectation, if any, drinking the warm ale with a teaspoon and soaking her strips of toast in it. Trot, said she, I don't care for strange faces in general, but I rather like that Barkis of yours. Do you know meaning, Peggotty? It's better than a hundred pounds to hear you say so, said I. It's a most extraordinary world, observed my aunt, rubbing her nose. How that woman ever got into it with that name is unaccountable to me. It would be much more easy to be born a Jackson or something of that sort, one would think. Perhaps she thinks so too. It's not her fault, said I. I suppose not, returned my aunt. Rather grudging the admission, but it's very aggravating. However, she's Barkis. Now, that's some comfort. Barkis is uncommonly fond of you, Trot. There is nothing she would leave undone to prove it, said I. Nothing, I believe, returned my aunt here. The poor fool has been begging and praying about handing over some of her money because she has got too much of it. A simpleton. My aunt's tears of pleasure were positively trickling down into the warm ale. She's the most ridiculous creature that ever was born, said my aunt. I knew from the first moment when I saw her with that poor dear, blessed baby of a mother of yours that she was the most ridiculous of mortals. But there are good points in Barkis. Affecting to laugh, she got an opportunity of putting her hand to her eyes. Having availed herself of it, she resumed her toast and her discourse together. Ah, mercy upon us, sighed my aunt. I know all about it, Trot. Barkis and myself had quite a gossip while you were out with Dick. I know all about it. I don't know where these wretched girls expect to go. For my part, I wonder they don't knock out their brains against mantelpieces, said my aunt, an idea which was probably suggested to her by her contemplation of mine. Poor Emily, said I. Oh, don't talk to me about poor, returned my aunt. She should have thought of that before she caused so much misery. Give me a kiss, Trot. I am sorry for your early experience. Okay. So Peggy told Miss Betsy about Emily running off with steerforce. And Miss Betsy feels that girls going off with men is always bad, even when they get married. So she feels bad for everyone involved. As I bent forward, she put her tumbler on my knee to detain me and said, oh, Trot, Trot. And so you fancy yourself in love, do you? Fancy Aunt. I exclaimed, as red as I could be. I adore her with my whole soul. Dora, indeed, Returned my aunt. And you mean to say the little thing is very fascinating? I suppose, my dear aunt, I replied, no one can form the least idea what she is. Ah, and not silly, said my aunt. Silly aunt, I seriously believe it, had never once entered my head for a single moment to consider whether she was or not. I resented the idea, of course, but I was in a manner struck by it as a new one altogether. Not light headed, said my aunt. Light headed aunt. I could only repeat this daring speculation with the same kind of feeling with which I had repeated the preceding question. Well, well, said my aunt. I only ask. I don't appreciate her. Poor little couple. And so you think you were formed for one another and are to go through a party, supper table kind of life like two pretty pieces of confectionery, do you, Trot? She asked me this so kindly and with such a gentle air, half playful and half sorrowful, that I was quite touched. We are young and inexperienced, aunt, I know, I replied, and I dare say we think a good deal. That is rather foolish, but we love one another truly, I am sure. If I thought Dora could ever love anybody else or cease to love me, or that I could ever love anybody else or cease to love her, I don't know what I should dogo out of my mind, I think. Ah, trot, said my aunt, shaking her head and smiling gravely. Blind, blind, blind. Someone that I know. Trot, my aunt pursued after a pause, though of a very pliant disposition, has an earnestness of affection in him that reminds me of poor baby. Earnestness is what that somebody must look for to sustain him and improve him. Trot. Deep, downright faithful earnestness. If you only knew the earnestness of Dora Anthony. I cried. Oh, Trot, she said again. Blind, blind. And without knowing why, I felt a vague unhappy loss or want of something overshadow me like a cloud. However, said my aunt, I don't want to put two young creatures out of conceit with themselves or to make them unhappy. So though it is a girl and boy attachment and girl and boy attachments very often, mind, I don't say always come to nothing. Still, we'll be serious about it and hope for a prosperous issue one of these days. There's time enough for it to come to anything. This was not, upon the whole, very comforting to a rapturous lover. But I was glad to have my aunt in my confidence, and I was mindful of her being fatigued So I thanked her ardently for this mark of her affection and for all her other kindnesses towards me. And after a tender good night, she took her nightcap into my bedroom. How miserable I was when I lay down. How I thought and thought about my being poor in Mr. Spenlow's eyes. About my not being what I thought I was when I proposed to Dora. About the chivalrous necessity of telling Dora what my worldly condition was and releasing her from her engagement if she thought fit. About how I should contrive to live during the long term of my articles when I was earning nothing. About doing something to assist my aunt and seeing no way of doing anything about coming down to have no money in my pocket and to wear a shabby coat and to be able to carry Dora no little presents and to ride no gallant greys and to show myself in no agreeable light. Sordid and selfish as I knew it was and as I tortured myself by knowing that it was. To let my mind run on my own distress so much I was so devoted to Dora that I could not help it. I knew that it was base in me not to think more of my aunt and less of myself. But so far, selfishness was inseparable from Dora. And I could not put Dora on one side for any mortal creature. How exceedingly miserable I was. That night as to sleep, I had dreams of poverty in all sorts of shapes. But I seemed to dream without the previous ceremony of going to sleep. Now I was ragged, wanting to sell Dora matches six bundles for a half penny. Now I was at the office in a nightgown and boots remonstrated with by Mr. Spenlow. On appearing before the clients in that airy attire. Now I was hungrily picking up the crumbs that fell from old Tiffy's daily biscuit, regularly eaten when St Paul's struck one. Now I was hopelessly endeavoring to get a license to marry Dora, having nothing but one of Uriah Heep's gloves to offer in exchange which the whole commons rejected. And still more or less conscious of my own room I was always tossing about like a distressed ship in a sea of bedclothes. My aunt was restless too, for I frequently heard her walking to and fro two or three times in the course of the night. Attired in a long flannel wrapper in which she looked seven feet high. She appeared like a disturbed ghost in my room and came to the side of the sofa on which I lay. On the first occasion I started up in alarm to learn that she inferred from a particular light in the sky that Westminster Abbey was on fire and to be consulted in reference to the probability of its igniting. Buckingham street in case the wind changed. Lying still after that, I found that she sat down near me whispering to herself, poor boy. And then it made me 20 times more wretched to know how unselfishly mindful she was of me and how selfishly mindful I was of myself. It was difficult to believe that a night so long to me could be short to anybody else. This consideration set me thinking and thinking of an imaginary party where people were dancing the hours away until that became a dream too. And I heard the music incessantly playing one tune and saw Dora incessantly dancing one dance without taking the least notice of me. The man who had been playing the harp all night was trying in vain to cover it with an ordinary sized nightcap when I awoke, or I should rather say when I left off trying to go to sleep and saw the sun shining in through the window at last. There was an old Roman bath in those days at the bottom of one of the streets out of the Strand. It may be there still, in which I have had many a cold plunge. Dressing myself as quietly as I could and leaving Peggotty to look after my aunt, I tumbled head foremost into it and then went for a walk to Hampstead. I had a hope that this brisk treatment might freshen my wits a little, and I think it did them good, for I soon came to the conclusion that the first step I ought to take was to try if my articles could be canceled and the premium recovered. Okay, so Ms. Betsy paid for David to have this internship essentially with Mr. Spenlow, which would eventually result in him becoming a lawyer, but it's currently an unpaid position. So David is going to ask that he be released from this position and that some of the money that Miss Betsy paid for it would be returned. This way he can go and get a job that will pay him a salary and she'll get some money back. I got some breakfast on the heath and walked back to Doctors Commons along the watered roads and through a pleasant smell of summer flowers growing in gardens and carried into town on hucksters heads. Intent on this first effort to meet our altered circumstances. I arrived at the office so soon after that that I had half an hour's loitering about the Commons before old Tiffey, who was always first appeared with his key. Then I sat down in my shady corner looking up at the sunlight on the opposite chimney pots and thinking about Dora until Mr. Spenlow came in crisp and curly. How are you, Copperfield? Said he. Fine morning, beautiful morning, sir, said I. Could I say a word to you before you go into court? By all means, said he, come into my room. I followed him into his room, and he began putting on his gown and touching himself up before a little glass he had hanging inside a closet door. I am sorry to say, said I, that I have some rather disheartening intelligence from my aunt. No, he said. Dear me, not paralysis. I hope it has no reference to her health, sir, I replied. She has met with some large losses. In fact, she has very little left indeed. You astound me, Copperfield, cried Mr. Spenlow. I shook my head. Indeed, sir, said I. Her affairs are so changed that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible at a sacrifice on our part of some portion of the premium. Of course, I put in this on the spur of the moment, warned by the blank expression of his face, to cancel my articles. What it cost me to make this proposal, nobody knows. It was like asking as a favor to be sentenced to transportation from Dora to cancel your articles, Copperfield. Cancel? I explained with tolerable firmness that I really did not know where my means of subsistence were to come from unless I could earn them for myself. I had no fear for the future, I said, and I laid great emphasis on that, as if to imply that I should still be decidedly eligible for a son in law one of these days. But for the present I was thrown upon my own resources. I am extremely sorry to hear this, Copperfield, said Mr. Spenlow. Extremely sorry. It is not usual to cancel articles for any such reason. It is not a professional course of proceeding. It is not a convenient precedent at all. Far from it. At the same time. You are very good, sir, I murmured, anticipating a concession. Not at all. Don't mention it, said Mr. Spenlow. At the same time I was going to say, if it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered, if I had not a partner, Mr. Jorkins. My hopes were dashed in a moment, but I made another effort. Do you think, sir, said I, if I were to mention it to Mr. Jorkins. Mr. Spenlow shook his head discouragingly. Heaven forbid, Copperfield, he replied, that I should do any man an injustice still less Mr. Jorkins. But I know my partner, Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is not a man to respond to a proposition of this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very difficult to move from the Beaten track. You know what he is. I am sure I knew nothing about him except that he had originally been alone in the business and now lived by himself in a house near Montague Square which was fearfully in want of painting, that he came very late of a day and went away very early, that he never appeared to be consulted about anything and that he had a dingy little black hole of his own upstairs where no business was ever done and where there was a yellow old cartridge paper pad upon his desk and unsoiled by ink and reported to be 20 years of age. Would you object to my mentioning it to him, sir? I asked. By no means, said Mr. Spenlow, but I have some experience of Mr. Jorkins Copperfield. I wish it were otherwise, for I should be happy to meet your views in any respect. I cannot have the objection to your mentioning it to Mr. Jorkins Copperfield. If you think it worth while availing myself of this permission which was given with a warm shake of the hand. I sat thinking about Dora and looking at the sunlight stealing from the chimney pots down the wall of the opposite house until Mr. Jorkins came. I then went up to Mr. Jorkins's room and evidently astonished Mr. Jorkins very much by making my appearance there. Come in, Mr. Copperfield, said Mr. Jorkins. Come in. I went in and sat down and stated my case to Mr. Jorkins pretty much as I had stated it to Mr. Spenlow. Mr. Jorkins was not by any means the awful creature one might have expected, but a large, mild, smooth faced man of 60 who took so much snuff that there was a tradition in the Commons that he lived principally on that stimulant, having little room in his system for any other article of diet. You have mentioned this to Mr. Spenlow, I suppose? Said Mr. Jorkins when he had heard me very restlessly to an end. I answered yes, and told him that Mr. Spenlow had introduced his name. He said I should object, said Mr. Jorkins. I was obliged to admit that Mr. Spenlow had considered it probable. I am sorry to say, Mr. Copperfield, I can't advance your object, said Mr. Jorkins nervously. The fact is. But I have an appointment at the bank, if you'll have the goodness to excuse me. With that he rose in a great hurry and was going out of the room when I made bold to say that I feared. Then there was no way of arranging the matter. No, said Mr. Jorkins, stopping at the door to shake his Head. Oh, no, I object, you know which he said very rapidly and went out. You must be aware, Mr. Copperfield, he added, looking restlessly in at the door again, if Mr. Spenlow objects personally. He does not object, sir, said I. Oh, personally, repeated Mr. Jorkins in an impatient manner. I assure you there's an objection, Mr. Copperfield. Hopeless. What you wish to be done can't be done. II really have got an appointment at the bank. With that he fairly ran away, and to the best of my knowledge it was three days before he showed himself in the Commons again. Being very anxious to leave no stone unturned, I waited until Mr. Spenlow came in and then described what had passed, giving him to understand that I was not hopeless of his being able to soften the adamantine Jorkins if he would undertake the task. Copperfield returned Mr. Spenlow with a gracious smile. You have not known my partner, Mr. Jorkins, as long as I have. Nothing is farther from my thoughts than to attribute any degree of artifice to Mr. Jorkins. But Mr. Jorkins has a way of stating his objections which often deceive people. No, Copperfield shaking his head. Mr. Jorkins is not to be moved, believe me. I was completely bewildered between Mr. Spenlow and Mr. Jorkins as to which of them really was the objecting partner. But I saw with sufficient clearness that there was obduracy somewhere in the firm, and that the recovery of my aunt's thousand pounds was out of the question in a state of despondency which I remember with anything but satisfaction, for I know it still had too much reference to myself, though always in connection with Dora. I left the office and went homeward. I was trying to familiarize my mind with the worst and to present to myself the arrangements we should have to make for the future in their sternest aspect. When a hackney chariot coming after me and stopping at my very feet occasioned me to look up, a fair hand was stretched forth to me from the window, and the face I had never seen without a feeling of serenity and happiness from the moment when it first turned back on the old oak staircase with the great broad balustrade, and when I associated its softened beauty with the stained glass window in the church, was smiling on me. Agnes. I joyfully exclaimed. Oh, my dear Agnes, of all the people in the world, what a pleasure to see you. Is it indeed? Said she in her cordial voice. I want to talk to you so much, said I. It's such a lightning of my heart only to look at you. If I had had a conjurer's cap. There is no one I should have wished for but you. What? Returned Agnes. Well, perhaps Dora first, I admitted with a blush. Certainly, Dora first, I hope, said Agnes, laughing. But you next, said I. Where are you going? She was going to my rooms to see my aunt. The day being very fine, she was glad to come out of the chariot, which smelt I had my head in it all this time, like a stable put under a cucumber frame. I dismissed the coachman, and she took my arm and we walked on together. She was like hope embodied to me how different I felt in one short minute having Agnes at my side. My aunt had written her one of the odd, abrupt notes, very little longer than a bank note, to which her epistolary efforts were usually limited. She had stated therein that she had fallen into adversity and was leaving Dover for good, but had quite made up her mind to it, and was so well that nobody need be uncomfortable about her. Agnes had come to London to see my aunt, between whom and herself there had been a mutual liking these many years. Indeed it dated from the time of my taking up my residence in Mr. Wickfield's house. House. She was not alone, she said. Her papa was with her and Uriah Heep. And now they are partners, said I. Confound him. Yes, said Agnes. They have some business here, and I took advantage of their coming to come, too. You must not think my visit all friendly and disinterested, Trotwood, for I am afraid I may be cruelly prejudiced. I do not like to let Papa go away alone with him. Does he exercise the same influence over Mr. Wickfield still, Agnes? Agnes shook her head. There is such a change at home, said she, that you would scarcely know the dear old house. They live with us now, they, said I. Mr. Heep and his mother. He sleeps in your old room, said Agnes, looking up into my face. I wish I had the ordering of his dreams, said I. He wouldn't sleep there long. I keep my own little room, said Agnes, where I used to learn my lessons. How the time goes. You remember the little paneled room that opens from the drawing room? Remember, Agnes, when I saw you for the first time coming out at the door with your quaint little basket of keys hanging at your side? It is just the same, said Agnes, smiling. I am glad you think of it so pleasantly. We were very happy. We were indeed, said I. I keep that room to myself still, but I cannot always desert Mrs. Heape, you know. And so, said Agnes quietly, I feel obliged to bear her company when I might prefer to be alone, but I have no other reason to complain of her if she tires me sometimes by her praises of her son. It is only natural in a mother. He is a very good son to her. I looked at Agnes when she said these words without detecting in her any consciousness of Uriah's design, his design being to propose to her. Her mild but earnest eyes met mine with their own beautiful frankness, and there was no change in her gentle face. The chief, chief evil of their presence in the house, said Agnes, is that I cannot be as near papa as I could wish Uriah Heep being so much between us, and cannot watch over him, if that is not too bold a thing to say, as closely as I would. But if any fraud or treachery is practising against him, I hope that simple love and truth will be strong in the end. I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world. A certain bright smile, which I never saw on any other face, died away even while I thought how good it was and how familiar it had once been to me. And she asked me with a quick change of expression, we were drawing very near my street, if I knew how the reverse in my aunt's circumstances had been brought about. On my replying, no, she had not told me yet. Agnes became thoughtful, and I fancied I felt her arm tremble in mine. We found my aunt alone in a state of some excitement. A difference of opinion had arisen between herself and Mrs. Crupp on an abstract question, the propriety of Chambers being inhabited by the gentler sex and my aunt, utterly indifferent to spasms on the part of Mrs. Crupp, had cut the dispute short by informing that lady that she smelt of my brandy and that she would trouble her to walk out. Both of these expressions Mrs. Crupp considered actionable and had expressed her intention of bringing before a British Judy, meaning, it was supposed, the bulwark of our national liberties. My aunt, however, having had time to cool while Peggotty was out shewing Mr. Dick the soldiers at the Horse Guards, and being besides greatly pleased to see Agnes, rather plumed herself on the affair than otherwise, and received us with unimpaired good humour. When Agnes laid her bonnet on the table and sat down beside her, I could not but think, looking on her mild eyes and her radiant forehead, how natural it seemed to have her there, how trustfully, although she was so young and inexperienced. My aunt confided in her how strong she was indeed in simple love and truth. We began to talk about my aunt's losses, and I told them what I had tried to do that morning, which was injudicious. Trot, said my aunt, but well meant. You are a generous boy, I suppose I must say young man now. And I am proud of you, my dear. So far so good. Now, Trot and Agnes, let us look the case of Betsey Trotwood in the face and see how it stands. I observed Agnes turn pale as she looked very attentively at my aunt. My aunt, patting her cat, looked very attentively at Agnes. Betsy Trotwood, said my aunt, who had always kept her money matters to herself. I don't mean your sister, Trot, my dear, but myself had a certain property. It don't matter how muchenough to live on more for she had saved a little and added to it. Betsey funded her property for some time, and then by the advice of her man of business, laid it out on landed security that did very well and returned very good interest till Betsey was paid off. I am talking of Betsey as if she was a man of war. Well, then Betsey had to look about her for a new investment. She thought she was wiser now than her man of business, who was not such a good man of business by this time as he used to be. I am alluding to your father, Agnes. And she took it into her head to lay it out for herself. So she took her pigs, said my aunt, to a foreign market, and a very bad market it turned out to be. First she lost in the mining way, and then she lost in the diving wayfishing up treasure or some such Tom Tiddler nonsense, explained my aunt, rubbing her nose. And then she lost in the mining way again. And last of all, to set the thing entirely to rights, she lost in the banking way. I don't know what the bank shares were worth for a little while, said my aunt. Cent per cent was the lowest of it, I believe. But the bank was at the other end of the world and tumbled into space for what I know. Anyhow, it fell to pieces and never will and never can pay sixpence. And Betsy's sixpences were all there, and there's an end of them least said soon, as amended. Okay, so she's saying that at first Mr. Wickfield handled her finances, but Mr. Wickfield has become less good at his job, and so she tried to handle it herself, and she Made some investments, but they didn't work out. And then the bank she was using went bankrupt, or something like that. And now all her money is gone. My aunt concluded this philosophical summary by fixing her eyes with a kind of triumph on Agnes. Agnes, whose colour was gradually returning. Dear Miss Trotwood. Is that all the history? Said Agnes. I hope it's enough, child, said my aunt. If there had been more money to lose, it wouldn't have been all. I dare say Betsy would have contrived to throw that after the rest and make another chapter, I have little doubt. But there was no more money and there's no more story. Agnes had listened at first with suspended breath. Her colour still came and went, but she breathed more freely. I thought I knew why. I thought she had some fear that her unhappy father might be in some way to blame for what had happened. My aunt took her hand in hers and laughed. Is that all? Repeated my aunt. Why, yes, that's all, except. And she lived happily ever afterwards. Perhaps I may add that of Betsy. Yet one of these days. Now, Agnes, you have a wise head. So have you, Trot in some things, though I can't compliment you always. And here. My aunt shook her own at me with an energy peculiar to herself. What's to be done? Here's the cottage. Taking one time with another will produce, say, 70 pounds a year. I think we may safely put it down at that. Well, that's all we've got, said my aunt, with whom it was an idiosyncrasy, as it is, with some horses to stop very short, when she appeared to be in a fair way of going on for a long while. Then, said my aunt, after a rest, there's Dick. He's good for a hundred a year, but of course, that must be expended on himself. I would sooner send him away, though I know I am the only person who appreciates him, than have him and not spend his money on himself. How can Trot and I do best upon our means? What do you say, Agnes? I say, Aunt, I interposed, that I must do something. Go for a soldier, you mean, returned my aunt, alarmed. Or go to sea. I won't hear of it. You are to be a proctor. We're not going to have any knockings on this head in this family. If you please, sir. I was about to explain that I was not desirous of introducing that mode of provision into the family, when Agnes inquired if my rooms were held for any long term. You come to the point, my dear, said my aunt. They are not to be got rid of for six months at least, unless they could be underlet. And that I don't believe the last man died here. Five people out of six would die, of course, of that woman in Nankeen with the flannel petticoat. Meaning, Mrs. Crupp, I have a little ready money, and I agree with you. The best thing we can do is to live the term out here and get a bedroom hard by. I thought it my duty to hint at the discomfort my aunt would sustain from living in a continual state of guerrilla warfare with Mrs. Crup Crupp. But she disposed of that objection summarily by declaring that on the first demonstration of hostilities she was prepared to astonish Mrs. Crupp for the whole remainder of her natural life. I have been thinking, Trotwood, said Agnes diffidently, that if you had time. I have a good deal of time, Agnes. I am always disengaged after 4 or 5 o', clock, and I have time early in the morning. In one way and another, said I, conscious of reddening a little as I thought of the hours and hours I had devoted to fagging about town and to and fro upon the Norwood Road. I have an abundance of time. I know you would not mind, said Agnes, coming to me and speaking in a low voice so full of sweet and hopeful consideration that I hear it now, the duties of a secretary. Mind, my dear Agnes, because, continued Agnes, Dr. Strong has acted on his intention of retiring and has come to live in London, and he asked Papa, I know, if he could recommend him one. Don't you think he would rather have his favourite old pupil near him than anybody else? Dear Agnes, said I, what should I do without you? You are always my good angel, I told you so. I never think of you in any other light. Agnes answered with her pleasant laugh, and that one good angel, meaning Dora, was enough, and went on to remind me that the doctor had been used to occupy himself in his study early in the morning and in the evening, and that probably my leisure would suit his requirements very well. I was scarcely more delighted with the prospect of earning my own bread than with the hope of earning it under my old master. In short, acting on the advice of Agnes, I sat down and wrote a letter to the doctor, stating my object and appointing to call on him next day at 10 in the forenoon. This I addressed to Highgate, for in that place so memorable to me, he lived and went and posted myself without losing a minute. Highgate is memorable to him, because that's where Steerforth's mother lives wherever Agnes was, some agreeable token of her noiseless presence seemed inseparable from the place. When I came back, I found my aunt's birds hanging just as they had hung so long in the parlour window of the cottage. And my easy chair, imitating my aunt's much easier chair in its position at the open window. And even the round green fan which my aunt had brought away with her screwed on to the window sill. I knew who had done all this by its seeming to have quietly done itself. And I should have known in a moment who had arranged my neglected books in the old order of my schooldayseven if I had supposed Agnes to be miles away instead of seeing her busy with them and smiling at the disorder into which they had fallen common. My aunt was quite gracious on the subject of the Thames. It really did look very well with the sun upon it, though not like the sea before the cottage. But she could not relent towards the London smoke, which she said peppered everything. A complete revolution, in which Peggotty bore a prominent part, was being affected in every corner of my rooms in regard of this pepper. And I was looking on, thinking how little even Peggotty seemed to do with a good deal of bustle and how much Agnes did without any bustle at all, when a knock came at the door. I think, said Agnes, turning pale, it's Papa. He promised me that he would come. I opened the door and admitted not only Mr. Wickfield but Uriah Heep. I had not seen Mr. Wickfield for some time. I was prepared for a great change in him after what I had heard from Agnes. But his appearance shocked me. It was not that he looked many years older, though still dressed with the old scrupulous cleanliness or that there was an unwholesome ruddiness upon his face or that his eyes were full and bloodshot, or that there was a nervous trembling in his hand, the cause of which I knew and had for some years seen at work, the cause being alcoholism. It was not that he had lost his good looks or his old bearing of a gentleman, for that he had not. But the thing that struck me most was that, with the evidences of his native superiority still upon him, he should submit himself to that crawling impersonation of meanness. Uriah Heep. The reversal of the two natures in their relative positions, Uriah's of power and Mr. Wickfield's of dependence, was a sight more painful to me than I can express. If I had seen an ape taking command of a man. I should hardly have thought it a more degrading spectacle. He appeared to be only too conscious of it himself. When he came in he stood still and with his head bowed as if he felt it. This was only for a moment, for Agnes softly said to him, Papa, here is Ms. Trotwood, and Trotwood whom you have not seen for a long while. And then he approached and constrainedly gave my aunt his hand, and shook hands more cordially with me. In the moment's pause I speak of, I saw Uriah's countenance form itself into a most ill favoured smile. Agnes saw it too, I think, for she shrank from him. What my aunt saw, or did not see, I defy the science of physiognomy to have made out without her own consent. I believe there never was anybody with such an imperturbable countenance. When she chose, her face might have been a dead wall on the occasion in question, for any light it threw upon her thoughts. Thoughts. Until she broke silence with her usual abruptness. Well, Wickfield, said my aunt, and he looked up at her for the first time. I have been telling your daughter how well I have been disposing of my money for myself because I couldn't trust it to you, as you were growing rusty in business matters. We have been taking counsel together and getting on very well, all things considered. Agnes is worth the whole firm, in my opinion. If I may humbly make the remark, said Uriah Heep with a writhe, I fully agree with Miss Betsy Trotwood, and should be only too happy if Miss Agnes was a partner. You're a partner yourself, you know, returned my aunt, and that's about enough for you, I expect. How do you find yourself, sir? In acknowledgment of this question addressed to him with extraordinary curtness. Mr. Heep, uncomfortably clutching the blue bag he carried, replied that he was pretty well, he thanked my aunt, and hoped she was the same. And you, master? I should say, Mr. Copperfield, pursued Uriah. I hope I see you well. I am rejoiced to see you, Mr. Copperfield, even under present circumstances. I believed that, for he seemed to relish them very much. Present circumstances is not what your friends would wish for you, Mr. Copperfield. But it isn't money that makes the man, it's. I am really unequal with my humble powers to express what it is, said Uriah with a fawning jerk. But it isn't money here. He shook hands with me. Not in the Common way, but standing at a good distance from me and lifting my hand up and down like a pump handle. That he was a little afraid of. And how do you think we are looking, Master Copperfield? I should say, Mr. Fond. Uriah, don't you find Mr. Wickfield blooming, sir? Years don't tell much in our firm, Master Copperfield, except in raising up the humble, namely mother and self, and in developing, he added as an afterthought, the beautiful, namely Miss Agnes. He jerked himself about after this compliment in such an intolerable manner that my aunt, who had sat looking straight at him, lost all patience. Deuce take the man, said my aunt sternly. What's he about? Don't be galvanic, sir. I ask your pardon, Ms. Trotwood, returned Uriah. I am aware you are nervous. Go along with you, sir, said my aunt, anything but appeased. Don't presume to say so. I am nothing of the sort. If you're an eel, sir, conduct yourself like one. If you're a man, control your limbs, sir. Good God, said my aunt with great indignation, I am not going to be serpentined and corkscrewed out of my senses. Mr. Heep was rather abashed, as most people might have been, by this explosion, which derived great additional force from the indignant manner in which my aunt afterwards moved in her chair and shook her head as if she were making, making snaps or bounces at him. But he said to me aside in a meek voice, I am well aware, master Copperfield, that Ms. Trotwood, though an excellent lady, has a quick temper indeed. I think I had the pleasure of knowing her when I was an humble clerk before you did, Master Copperfield. And it's only natural, I am sure, that it should be made quicker by present circumstances. The wonder is that it isn't much worse. I only called to say that if there was anything we could do in present circumstances, mother or self, or Wickfield and Heep, we should be really glad I may go so far, said Uriah with a sickly smile at his partner. Uriah heep, said Mr. Wickfield in a monotonous, forced way, is active in the business, Trotwood. What he says, I quite concur in. You know, I had an old interest in you. Apart from that. What Uriah says, I quite concur in. Oh, what a reward it is, said Uriah, drying up one leg at the risk of bringing down upon himself another visitation from my aunt to be so trusted in. But I hope I am able to do something to relieve him from the fatigues of the business. Master Copperfield. Uriah Heep is a great relief to me, said Mr. Wickfield in the same dull voice. It's a load off my mind, Trotwood, to have such a partner. The Red fox made him say all this. I knew to exhibit him to me in the light he had indicated on the night when he poisoned my rest. I saw the same ill favored smile upon his face again, and saw how he watched, watched me. You are not going, Papa, said Agnes anxiously. Will you not walk back with Trotwood and me? He would have looked to Uriah, I believe, before replying, if that worthy had not anticipated him. I am bespoke myself, said Uriah, on business. Otherwise I should have been happy to have kept with my friends. But I leave my partner to represent the firm. Miss Agnes, ever yours. I wish you good day, Master Copperfield, and leave my humble respects for Ms. Betsy Trotwood. With those words he retired, kissing his great hand and leering at us like a mask. We sat there talking about our pleasant old Canterbury days. An hour or two Mr. Wickfield, left to Agnes, soon became more like his former self, though there was a settled depression upon him which he never shook off. For all that he brightened and had an evident pleasure in hearing us recall the little incidents of our old life, many of which he remembered very well. He said it was like those times to be alone with Agnes and me again, and he wished to heaven they had never changed. I am sure there was an influence in the placid face of Agnes and in the very touch of her hand upon his arm that did wonders for him. My aunt, who was busy nearly all this while with Peggotty in the inner room, would not accompany us to the place where they were staying, but in insisted on my going and I went. We dined together after dinner. Agnes sat beside him as of old and poured out his wine. He took what she gave him, and no more like a child. And we all three sat together at a window as the evening gathered in. When it was almost dark, he lay down on a sofa, Agnes pillowing his head and bending over him a little while. And when she came back to the window, it was not so dark, but I could see tears glittering in her eyes. I pray heaven that I never may forget the dear girl in her love and truth at that time of my life. For if I should, I must be drawing near the end, and then I would desire to remember her best. She filled my heart with such good resolutions, strengthened my weakness so by her example so directed, I know not how she was too modest and gentle to advise me in many words the wandering ardour and unsettled purpose within me, that all the little good I have done and all the harm I have forborne, I solemnly believe I may refer to her, and how she spoke to me of Dora, sitting at the window in the dark, listened to my praises of her, praised again and round the little fairy figure, shed some glimpses of her own pure light, that made it yet more precious and more innocent to me. O Agnes, sister of my boyhood, if I had known then what I knew long afterwards. There was a beggar in the street when I went down, and as I turned my head towards the window, thinking of her calm seraphic eyes, he made me start by muttering as if he were an echo of the morning, Blind, blind, blind. 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 continued.