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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. Welcome back. Oh boy, I got a ton of letters this time. It was great. I've been having so much fun since the last episode reading your emails. You have so many, so many thoughts about Dora and I cannot wait to talk to you about them today because it's been such fun reading them. You don't all agree it's fantastic. I love this. So please, I, you know, I always say, like, I love your emails. You're never bothering me. It's so true. I, I wish you could see me over here. I'm so giddy and thrilled. It's so much fun to get to talk to people about this wonderful book in this exact way because I just feel, feel like these books are meant to be experienced emotionally. They are not meant to be dissected and taken apart and analyzed. They are meant to be felt and lived in and experienced. And that's what you guys are doing and that's what I get to do as well. And we get to do it together and it's the best of fun. So thank you for that. Thank you for being a part of this show in that way and all the ways that you are. And I cannot wait to talk to you about this chapter and I can't wait to read the next chapter and find out what happens before that. I just want to remind you that time is coming up on Thursday, May 28th at 8pm Eastern. So if you don't know what that is, Tea time happens in our online community, which is called the Drawing room, which is short for the withdrawing room because it's where we withdraw after the show to keep on talking about these books and other books, life in general, all the things that are on our minds. Every old Victorian house would have had a drawing room. We have one too. It's just online. And if you are a member of the landed gentry membership tier, then you are entitled to join us once a month for tea time, which is a kind of voice chat. It's where it's like a group phone call and we talk to each other for about an hour. We talk about the book, we have lots of lively debate over there, lots of discussion about what's going on in the book so far. I also answer any questions that you have so you can ask me anything and I will answer. Sometimes we talk about other kind of book related things so it's always a fun time. It always flies by. I love it. So if you're interested in joining us but you haven't yet signed up for the drawing room or you're not yet landed Gentry, just scroll into the show notes. There's a link that's there. It's clearly labeled. Click on that. It'll just give you some more information and you can decide if you want to sign up and join us. I hope you will. I always love chatting with my old friends and I really also love meeting new ones. So please do stop on by. I hope you will. It's May 28, it's a Thursday at 8pm Eastern and I'll remind you again as we get even closer. Other than that, all of the usual reminders apply. Please make sure you're subscribed to the Show. The Show. Please tap the five stars. If you've been enjoying the show, please leave a positive review. If you've been enjoying the show and you have a couple of extra seconds to do that, please, please, please tell a friend. That's the best way to spread the word about the show. Please tell a friend, a family member, a co worker, a stranger on the street. Just let them know about Storytime for Grown Ups. Tell them they might like it. Wear your Storytime for Grown Ups merch. If you don't have any, scroll into the show notes and click the link and pick something up. I just ordered myself a Janet Donkeys T shirt and a Storytime for Grown Ups logo sticker to put on the back of my laptop. I'm really excited. Those are in the mail as we speak, so I'm really excited to get those. You can get some merch of your own and hopefully someone will ask you, hey, what's story time for grownups? And you can tell them and then we'll have more listeners and the more the merrier because the more people who are reading these books and talking about them, the better the world will be. I really do believe that. All right, speaking of talking about them, let's do that. Let's get into this episode. Today we're reading chapter 38. Last time we read chapter 37. So let's just remind ourselves of what happened and then we'll chat for a bit. So here is the recap. Okay, so where we left off. David's new life is now established. Miss Betsy lives with him. Mr. Dick lives over the chandler shop, comes over every day to do the copying. David works for Dr. Strong in the mornings and evenings and goes to Doctor's Commons during the day. Peggy has to go back to Yarmouth and says a tearful goodbye to David, promising to come back and make his house lovely once he's married and to lend him money if he ever needs it. Dora comes back to town and David goes to see her to tell her about changed circumstances. He tells her about them in a very dramatic way, which causes her to become very worked up and he has to talk her down. And he's very angry with himself for upsetting her, but she can't seem to understand what he's saying and she wants him to just stop talking about it. Finally, Ms. Mills comes in and David explains the situation to her, and she explains it to Dora, who calms down and says she still loves David, but she has no interest in talking about anything practical. David tries to suggest that she might start thinking about learning how to be a housewife since they won't have servants, and this upsets her again and she refuses to think about it at all. David asks Ms. Mills if she can help Dora with this, but Ms. Mills says that Dora is not the sort of person who could ever be a housewife in that sense. David leaves, explaining that he has to get up early in the morning and Dora can't fathom why he would need to do that or why he can't just skip work. David still loves her to distraction, but he also worries about how he's going to provide for her when they're married. All right, today I'm going to read 6 comments and you'll see why in a minute. The first one comes from Rachel Clevenger. She says the thought of Dora Spenlow with a cookbook. Poor thing. Davey didn't pull any punches, did he? By far the most comical chapter yet, though I hope that doesn't mean we are in for another downward spiral soon. This next one comes from Marian. She says this must be one of the most frustrating chapters in English literature. Perhaps if David held Dora's nose against a hot teapot as she did to Gyp, she wouldn't behave like such a silly little fool. In the case of David and Dora, love truly is blind. The next one comes from Courtney. She says Dora doesn't seem very ready for marriage. She seems too childish and not ready for the trials that inevitably come with adulthood and married life. And honestly, David doesn't seem ready to marry her either. He seems to idolize her way too much to nurture a healthy relationship. This next one comes from Jamie. Jamie says, please, David, for the sake of all that is right and true, wake up. Dora's reaction to David's honorable discussion of his financial situation was the last straw. She's a petulant child. I have little hope that lovesick David can see the light, but have a glimmer of hope that pouty Dora may just do him a favor and turn him out. This one comes from Peter Conrad Coniker. He says, even us old dudes still get a little giddy when we first have a crush on someone. And even though love changes over time as it deepens and adapts to circumstance, I think there's a part of us that yearns for a little simple, pure, romantic infatuation. So even though Dora is kind of a silly, empty girl, she comes by it honestly. And I think it's fun and poignant that Dickens includes this relationship, not so we can be negative about any of it, but so we can join adult David in remembering puppy love fondly. And the last one comes from Corinthia. She says, oh, my goodness. I know David is completely infatuated with Dora, but her reaction to David's new situation was awful. First denial, then hysteria, then back to denial. God forbid, she might have to learn to cook. Okay, so like I was saying a minute ago, I got a huge reaction to this chapter. I got so many letters, and it was super fun, like I was saying. But what I tried to capture by choosing the letters that I did is that there are essentially two camps developing here. One camp really kind of hates Dora. They feel like she's young, she's silly, she's not at all ready for marriage. But even more than that, she's spoiled. She's unwilling to take anything seriously. She's kind of intentionally refusing to do anything that might help David set up his new life. She's a useless waste of space that wants everything done for her and doesn't want to do anything hard and refuses to even try. So that's one camp, okay, as represented here by Marian, Jamie, and Corinthia, but also by lots of others of you out there whose letters I got. But the other camp, as represented here by Rachel, Courtney, and Peter, but again by lots of others of you out there, is that Dora is sort of sweet. She's innocent. She's just not really ready for the reality of marriage or the reality of the life that David will need to live now, but that this isn't her fault because she's young and she's never had to really think about anything much about the real world. And also, David isn't really acting very grown up either. When it comes to Dora. He is infatuated. He tells her about his situation in a really dramatic and kind of over the top way. Both of them are still very childish, but according to this second camp, it's also kind of sweet. It's puppy love, it's innocent. And either the whole thing will peter out or. Or they'll grow up together and learn how to take on the responsibilities of adult people together. So those are kind of the two camps. And I will say that while I tried to represent each camp kind of equally in the letters that I chose for today, I feel I must tell you that I did get more letters condemning Dora than I got from people who feel indulgent towards her. So in terms of volume of letters, the first camp is winning out over the second. But let's just take a bit of a look at this situation and what happened and try to not like decide between one camp or another. You're perfectly welcome to remain in whichever camp you're in, but let's kind of just weigh the evidence on both sides. So the first thing I want to say about chapter 37 is that I agree with Rachel when she says that this was one of the funniest chapters yet. I think chapter 37 is hilarious. It is so funny the way that David and Dora sort of fling themselves all over the place in the throes of this dramatic situation, which really, when you get right down to it, isn't that dramatic. I mean, David is making money now. He can provide for them. They're not going to be homeless, they're not going to be working in a factory or anything. They're going to have a comfortable middle class life. So the way that the two of them carry on is really, really funny. And I'm pointing this out right here at the get go because I got the impression from many of the letters I got this time that the exasperation that Dora makes many of you feel, which I totally, totally get, but the exasperation that you felt for some of you kind of got in the way of your being able to enjoy the scene. You know, we've talked several times now about the way in which Dickens is so good at infusing his scenes with humor, even when the thing that's actually happening might be sort of sad or Upsetting or exasperating or whatever it may be. And this is an instance of that. I mean, the way that David narrates Dora's meltdowns is so funny. I mean, just listen. Here's an example. He says, poor little Dora did nothing but exclaim, oh, dear. Oh, dear. And oh, she was so frightened. And where was Julia Mills? And oh, take her to Julia Mills and go away, please, until I was almost beside myself. I mean, the whole scene is like that. And David's tearing out his hair and Dora's falling on his breast. It's like a sort of pantomime or a farce or something. So we are absolutely meant to find this funny. And I think adult David is definitely making fun of his younger self here. And I think this is another important point. Because, yes, Dora is exasperating and silly and spoiled. I think you can agree with that, regardless of which camp you fall into. So she is all of those things, and we'll look at that in a moment. But she's not the only one acting ridiculous here. David is also being ridiculous, and I think that's worth noting. We talked last time about the way in which David is both getting things done in terms of getting on with this new life in which she needs to. To make a living for himself. But he's also casting himself as knight errant, riding forth to save the day. And here we get this image again, and he makes it sound sort of silly. He says, I made it a rule to take as much out of myself as I possibly could in my way of doing everything to which I applied my energies. I made a perfect victim of myself. I mean, that's silly, right? Why expend the maximal energy on things that don't need energy spent on them? Do your work, get things done. Go home, right? But he's sort of making a spectacle or a production of getting things done so as to sort of prove to himself and to the world that he's doing everything he can. So again, he's both doing the thing and being silly about doing the thing. And then, of course, the way that he goes about telling Dora about this change in his situation is in keeping with his idea of himself as brave knight, sacrificing all for his lady love or whatever. Here's what he says. I soon carried desolation into the bosom of our joys. Not that I meant to do it, but that I was so full of the subjects by asking Dora, without the smallest preparation, if she could love a beggar. I mean, that is Pretty maudlin, right? A beggar. He's not a beggar. He knows what it is to be a beggar, and this isn't it. But I think that's sort of the point here. David has actually been poor. He's actually been homeless. He knows what it is to have to work in a factory and not have enough money for food. Food. And not have a bed to sleep in at night. He has been there. And this situation is so far from that that it's not even really worth worrying about. And so he's romanticized it. He's turned it into another one of his fantasies of being a hero and a paragon of chivalry. And all of this because to him, this is actually so far from a real hardship that he has the luxury of turning it into a fantasy. I mean, again, listen to how he talks about it. He says, for our path in life, my Dora. And then it says, said I, warming with. The subject is stony and rugged now, and it rests with us to smooth it. We must fight our way onward. We must be brave. There are obstacles to be met, and we must meet and crush them. This is not someone talking about reality. This is someone wrapped up in a fantasy. And he can be wrapped up in a fantasy because he actually has been a beggar. And he knows he's not even close to that now. But of course, Dora hasn't been a beggar. She has no idea what his actual situation is now. And she's just listening to him go on about beggars and hardships and fighting and being brave. And, I mean, I don't actually really blame her for having no clue what he's on about. She doesn't have to react hysterically. I'm not, like, letting her off the hook. I'm just saying it's completely natural that she has no idea what the actual situation here is. So my point is that both of them. Them are acting ridiculous. Both of them are acting childish. Because if David was acting more like an adult, he would probably say something along the lines of like, dora, there's something I need to discuss with you. I've had a bit of a setback financially. It looks like I'm gonna have to work to earn my money, and I'll have less of it than I previously thought. But I'll still be able to provide for us. We'll just have to be a little bit nearer than before and maybe have fewer servants and things like that. And you may have to do some of the housework. So I'm telling you this because I love you and I want to marry you more than anything. But I also want to give you the chance to back out of our engagement, since things with me are different now than they were when you said yes. And then Dora, if she was acting more like an adult, might say something like, oh, gosh, I'm so sorry to hear about this. Thank you so much for telling me. I'm not really sure I'm cut out for doing the housework and things like that, but maybe we can talk about how to make it work, because I love you, too, and I still want to marry you if I can. Right. But of course, where's the fun in that? That would be a pretty boring story to read, I think. And so instead, both of them are essentially displaying their flaws. They both come at the situation in the worst way possible and behave according to their natures, which are flawed. So, again, there's blame on both sides. And I think another thing to remember, and we talked about this a while ago, I guess, when we first met Dora, but something else to remember is that part of the appeal of Dora for David, at least subconsciously, is that Dora reminds David of his own mother. I don't think he realizes that, but we've realized it, and I think Dickens means for us to make the comparison. So it's Dora's very childishness, her silliness, her impracticality. It's all of those things that are exactly the things that David loves about her. He says, her childish way was the most delicious way in the world to me. Okay, so now David is kind of stuck because he simultaneously wants her to learn how to act like the wife he now needs, a wife who can keep house and cook and keep the accounts and keep things running smoothly. An angel in the house, essentially. Right. He wants her to be that, but he loves her because she isn't that. The actual thing he loves about her is the way in which she's such a silly, childish sort of person. So David's idea here is that he's going to get Dora to learn to do all of the practical things so that she can be the wife that he needs. But Dora is telling him that she really has no idea how to do that, which in a way is fair, since that's exactly what it is about her that David fell in love with. She says, but I haven't got any strength at all. And then David tells us that she responded to his suggestion that she might look at a cookbook and think about the accounts. And this is a quote with something that was half a sob and half a scream, okay? And then when David asks Ms. Mills if maybe Ms. Mills could sort of gently encourage Dora to learn to do some of these housewifely things, Ms. Mills says the suggestion is not appropriate. To our Dora, our dearest Dora is a favorite child of nature. She is a thing of light and airiness and joy. I am free to confess that if it could be done, it might be. Well, but. And then it says. And Ms. Mills shook her head, meaning, essentially, that's not who Dora is. I mean, Ms. Mills is really funny in the way that she says everything is really funny, but basically she's saying that, yes, those things would be good in general for a wife to learn to do, but Dora is not the sort of person who can learn them. Dora is silly, childish, sweet, pretty, all the things that David loves about her. And that means that she isn't practical, industrious, thoughtful, and everything else that a good Victorian wife ought to be. So really, I think the question is, will Dora ever grow into that kind of person? Can David and Dora sort of grow up together and eventually find their way to the sort of marriage that David wants? Or is Dora just a silly, stupid sort of person and David would be better off getting himself out of this engagement and choosing someone else? I mean, I think a lot of you are kind of mad at Dora because she's so out of touch and she's so spoiled, and it's hard to imagine that someone would be as clueless as she seems to be. I mean, just for example, this thing where David tells her that he has to get up at 5 in the morning, and she says, this is a quote now, don't get up at 5 o', clock, you naughty boy. It's so nonsensical, right? And then David says, my love, I have work to do. And then she says, but don't do it. Why should you? I mean, it does sort of make you want to just shake her, doesn't it? Like, what is she, a princess? She's never even heard of working for a living. She doesn't know where money comes from. I mean, what. What is it? What is her actual deal? So I totally get being frustrated with her, but again, it's exactly this that David fell in love with. So he's really in a bind now, I think. And of course, the other thing that I'm getting lots and lots of letters about at the moment is that there is an alternative out there. We talked about this before, right? Agnes is exactly the kind of person who would be able to handle all of these household things that David is trying to get Dora to do, and she would handle them without anyone even knowing that she was doing it. She would be the angel in the house. And it's hard not to then shake David and be like, what on earth is wrong with you? The wife that you want is right there. But again, at least at this point in his life, Agnes isn't the wife that David wants. Because Agnes isn't childish and silly and impractical in all the things that David loves about Dora, all the things that he loved about his mother also. So even though we might be like David, not only would Agnes make a much better housewife, she's also your best friend. She makes you feel better every time you're with her. You call her your good angel. She's obviously the one for you, right? Even though that's all true, the heart wants what it wants. And right now, David's heart wants Dora. And honestly, is David grown up enough to be with Agnes at the moment? I mean, what would Agnes do if David, like, flung himself around declaring that he would die if he couldn't be with her and that they must hack their way through the forest of difficulty or whatever? Would she find that appealing? I mean, we don't know, but, like, maybe not. So for myself, I feel like I can sort of see the merit of both camps. I agree that Dora is annoying, that she is frustratingly out of touch, that she's silly, that she's spoiled, and most of all, that she's not going to make a great wife for David if she can't pull herself together. But I also have some sympathy for her because she is who she is. She never pretended to be anyone else. The things about her that make her who she she is are the things that David fell in love with. So she's never tried to convince him that she could be different than this. And now she's being told that her fiance is a beggar and she'll have to learn how to cook. And it's kind of like, wait, hang on, that wasn't part of the deal. And I think most of all, I think it's important to see that it is both Dora and David that are being childish here. Yes, David is also being practical and buckling down and getting things done, which I think is a feature of the fact that he has been poor. He has had to work, so he knows what to do and. And how to do this. So he isn't like, oh, how silly to get up early to work harder. He's like, yeah, duh, I'm gonna get up earlier so I can get more work done and earn more money. So in that sense, he's not childish at all, but in lots of other ways he is. So should they get married? Will they grow up together and it'll all be okay? Or should David get out right now? And regardless of what he should do, what will he do? Right? Well, there is only one way to find out, and that, of course, is to keep reading. So we're going to do that. But please do get in touch. I've been having so much fun. Please don't let this fun end. Get in touch with me. It's faithkmoore.com, click on contact or scroll into the Show Notes. The same contact link is there. And please send me all of your questions and thoughts. I would love to hear from you. All right, let's get started with chapter 38 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 38, a dissolution of a partnership. I did not allow my resolution with respect to the parliamentary debates to cool meaning he still wants to become a court stenographer. It was one of the irons I began to heat immediately, and one of the irons I kept hot and hammered at. With a perseverance I may honestly admire. I bought an approved scheme of the noble art and mystery of stenography, which cost me 10 and sixpence and plunged into a sea of perplexity that brought me in a few weeks to the confines of distraction. The changes that were rung upon dots, which in such a position meant such a thing, and in such another position something else entirely different. The wonderful vagaries that were played by some circles, the unaccountable consequences that resulted from marks like fly's legs, the tremendous effects of a curve in a wrong place not only troubled my waking hours, but reappeared before me in my sleep. So he's describing trying to learn shorthand notation when I had groped my way blindly through these difficulties and had mastered the Alphabet, which was an Egyptian temple in itself. There then appeared a procession of new horrors called arbitrary characters, the most despotic characters I have ever known, who insisted, for instance, that a thing like the beginning of a cobweb meant expectation, and that a pen and ink skyrocket stood for disadvantageous. When I had fixed these wretches in my mind, I found that they had driven everything else out of it. Then, beginning again, I forgot them. While I was picking them up, I dropped the Other fragments of the system. In short, it was almost heartbreaking. It might have been quite heartbreaking but for Dora, who was the stay and anchor of my tempest driven bark, Every scratch in the scheme was a gnarled oak in the forest of difficulty. And I went on cutting them down one after another with such vigor that in three or four months I was in a condition to make an experiment on one of our crack speakers in the commons. Shall I ever forget how the crack speaker walked off from me before I began and left my imbecile pencil staggering about the paper as if it were in a fit? So he thought he was good enough at shorthand to take down a speech, but he failed utterly. This would not do. It was quite clear I was flying too high and should never get on. So I resorted to Traddles for advice, who suggested that he should dictate speeches to me at a pace and with occasional stoppages adapted to my weakness. Very grateful for this friendly aid, I accepted the proposal. And night after night, almost every night for a long time, we had a sort of private parliament in Buckingham street. After I came home from the doctors. I should like to see such a parliament anywhere else. My aunt and Mr. Dick represented the government, or the opposition, as the case might be, and Traddles, with the assistance of Enfield speakers or a volume of parliamentary orations, thundered astonishing invectives against them. Standing by the table with his finger in the page to keep the place and his right arm flourishing above his head, traddles, as Mr. Pitt, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Burke, Lord Castlereagh, Viscount Sidmouth, or Mr. Canning would work himself into the most violent heats and deliver the most withering denunciations of the profligacy and corruption of my aunt and Mr. Dick, while I used to sit at a little distance with my notebook on my knee, fagging after him with all my might and main. The inconsistency and recklessness of traddles were not to be exceeded by any real politician. He was, for any description of policy in the compass of a week and nailed all sorts of colours to every denomination of mast. My aunt, looking very like an immovable chancellor of the exchequer, would occasionally throw in an interruption or two, as here or no or oh, when the text seemed to require it, which was always a signal to Mr. Dick, a perfect country gentleman to follow lustily with the same cry. But Mr. Dick got taxed with such things in the course of his parliamentary career and was made responsible for such awful consequences that he became uncomfortable in his mind sometimes I believe he actually began to be afraid. He really had been doing something tending to the annihilation of the the British constitution and the ruin of the country. Okay, so they're acting out what happens in Parliament, and Traddles is reading impassioned speeches, and miss Betsy and Mr. Dick are the opposing party listening on all so that David can practice his shorthand. Often and often we pursued these debates until the clock pointed to midnight and the candles were burning down. The result of so much good practice was that by and by I began to keep pace with travels pretty well, and should have been quite triumphant if I had had the least idea what my notes were about. But as to reading them after I had got them, I might as well have copied the Chinese inscriptions of an immense collection of tea chests or the golden characters on all the great red and green bottles in the chemist shops. There was nothing for it but to turn back and begin all over again. It was very hard, but I turned back, though with a heavy heart, and began laboriously and methodically to plod over the same tedious grand ground at a snail's pace, stopping to examine minutely every speck in the way on all sides, and making the most desperate efforts to know these elusive characters by sight wherever I met them. I was always punctual at the office, at the doctor's too. And I really did work, as the common expression is, like a cart horse. One day when I went to the Commons as usual, I found Mr. Spenlow in the doorway, looking extremely grave and talking to himself, as he was in the habit of complaining of pains in his head. He had naturally a short throat, and I do seriously believe he overstarched himself. I was at first alarmed by the idea that he was not quite right in that direction, but he soon relieved my uneasiness. Instead of returning my good morning with his usual affability, he looked at me in a distant, ceremonious manner and coldly requested me to accompany him to a certain place, coffee house, which in those days had a door opening into the Commons just within the Little Archway in St. Paul's Churchyard. I complied in a very uncomfortable state, and with a warm shooting all over me, as if my apprehensions were breaking out into buds. When I allowed him to go on a little before, on account of the narrowness of the way, I observed that he carried his head with a lofty air that was particularly unpromising, and my mind misgave me that he had found out about my darling Dora. If I had not guessed this on the way to the Coffee house. I could hardly have failed to know what was the matter when I followed him into an upstairs room and found Miss Murdstone there, supported by a background of sideboard, on which were several inverted tumblers sustaining lemons, and two of those extraordinary boxes, all corners and flutings for sticking knives and forks, in which, happily for mankind, are now obsolete. Ms. Murdstone gave me her chilly fingernails and sat severely rigid. Mr. Spenlow shut the door, motioned me to a chair, and stood on the hearth rug in front of the fireplace. Have the goodness to show Mr. Copperfield, said Mr. Spenlow, what you have in your reticule, Ms. Murdstone. I believe it was the old identical steel clasped reticule of my childhood that shut up like a bite, compressing her lips in sympathy with the snap. Ms. Murdstone opened it, opening her mouth a little at the same time, and produced my last letter to Dora, teeming with expressions of devoted affection. I believe this is your writing, Mr. Copperfield, said Mr. Spenlow. I was very hot, and the voice I heard was very unlike mine when I said. It is, sir, if I am not mistaken, said Mr. Spenlow, as Ms. Murdstone brought a parcel of letters out of her reticule tied round with the dearest bit of blue ribbon. Those are also from your pen, Mr. Copperfield. I took them from her with a most desolate sensation, and, glancing at such phrases at the top as my ever dearest and own Dora, my best beloved angel, my blessed one forever and the like, blushed deeply and inclined my head. No, thank you, said Mr. Spenlow coldly, as I mechanically offered them back to him. I will not deprive you of them, Ms. Murdstone. Be so good as to proceed. That gentle creature, after a moment's thoughtful survey of the carpet, delivered herself with much dry unction, as follows. House I must confess to having entertained my suspicions of Ms. Spenlow in reference to David Copperfield for some time. I observed Ms. Spenlow and David Copperfield when they first met, and the impression made upon me then was not agreeable. The depravity of the human heart is such. You will oblige me, ma', am, interrupted Mr. Spenlow, by confining yourself to facts. Miss Murdstone cast down her eyes, shook her head as if protesting against this unseemly interruption, and with frowning dignity resumed. Since I am to confine myself to facts, I will state them as dryly as I can. Perhaps that will be considered an acceptable course of proceeding. I have already said, sir, that I have had my suspicions of Miss Spenlow in reference to David Copperfield for some time. I have frequently endeavoured to find decisive corroboration of those suspicions, but without effect. I have therefore forborne to mention them to Miss Spenlow's father, looking severely at him, knowing how little disposition there usually is in such cases, to acknowledge the conscientious distinction, discharge of duty. Mr. Spenlow seemed quite cowed by the gentlemanly sternness of Miss Murdstone's manner, and deprecated her severity with a conciliatory little wave of his hand. On my return to Norwood, after the period of absence occasioned by my brother's marriage, pursued Miss Murdstone in a disdainful voice, and on the return of Miss Spenlow from her visit to her friend Miss Mills, I imagined that the manner of Miss Spenlow gave me greater occasion for suspicion than before. Therefore I watched Miss Spenlow closely. Dear, tender little Dora. So unconscious of this dragon's eye still resumed Miss Murdstone. I found no proof until last night. It appeared to me that Miss Spenlow received too many letters from her friend Miss Mills. But Miss Mills, being her friend, with her father's full concurrence, another telling blow at Mr. Spenlow. It was not for me to interfere. If I may not be permitted to allude to the natural depravity of the human heart, at least I may. I must be permitted, so far, to refer to misplaced confidence. Mr. Spenlow apologetically murmured his assent. Last evening, after tea pursued Miss Murdstone. I observed the little dog starting rolling and growling about the drawing room, worrying something I said to Miss Spenlow, dora, what is that the dog has in his mouth? It's paper. Miss Spenlow immediately put her hand to her frock, gave a sudden cry and ran to the dog. I interposed and said, dora, my love, you must permit me. Oh, Jip, miserable spaniel. This wretchedness, then, was your work? Miss Spenlow endeavored, said Miss Murdstone, to bribe me with kisses, work boxes and small articles of jewelry that, of course, I pass over. The little dog retreated under the sofa on my approaching him, and was with great difficulty dislodged by the fire irons. Even when dislodged, he still kept the letter in his mouth, and on my endeavouring to take it from him, at the imminent risk of being bitten, he kept it between his teeth so pertinaciously as to suffer himself to be held suspended in the air by means of the Document. At length I obtained possession of it. After perusing it, I taxed Ms. Spenlow with having many such letters in her possession and ultimately obtained from her the packet which is now in David Copperfield's hand. Here she ceased, and, snapping her reticule again and shutting her mouth, looked as if she might be broken, but could never be bent. You have heard, Ms. Murdstone, said Mr. Spenlow, turning to me. I beg to ask Mr. Copperfield if you have anything to say in reply. The picture I had before me of the beautiful little treasure of my heart sobbing and crying all night, of her being alone, frightened and wretched, then of her having so piteously begged and prayed that stony hearted woman to forgive her, of her having vainly offered her those kisses, work boxes and trinkets, of her being in such grievous distress and all for me very much impaired the little dignity I had been able to muster. I am afraid I was in a tremulous state for a minute or so, though I did my best to disguise it. There is nothing I can say, sir, I returned, except that all the blame is mine. Dora. Ms. Spenlow, if you please, said her father majestically, was induced and persuaded by me. I went on swallowing that colder designation to consent to this concealment, and I bitterly regret it. You are very much to blame, sir, said Mr. Spenlow, walking to and fro upon the hearth rug and emphasizing what he said with his whole body instead of his head on account of the stiffness of his cravat and spine. You have done a stealthy and unbecoming action, Mr. Copperfield. When I take a gentleman to my house, no matter Whether he is 19, 21 or 90, I take him there in a spirit of confidence. If he abuses my confidence, he commits a dishonourable action, Mr. Copperfield. I feel it, sir. I assure you I returned. But I never thought so before. Sincerely, honestly. Indeed, Mr. Spenlow, I never thought so before. I love Ms. Spenlow to that extent. Pooh. Nonsense. Said Mr. Spenlow, reddening. Pray don't tell me to my face that you love my daughter. Mr. Copperfield. Could I defend my conduct if I did not, sir? I returned with all humility. Can you defend your conduct if you do, sir? Said Mr. Spenlow, stopping short upon the hearthrug. Have you considered your years and my daughter's years, Mr. Copperfield? Have you considered what it is to undermine the confidence that should subsist between my daughter and myself? Have you considered my daughter's station in life? The projects I may contemplate for her advancement, the testamentary intentions I may have with reference to her. Have you considered anything, Mr. Copperfield? Very little, sir, I'm afraid, I answered, speaking to him as respectfully and sorrowfully as I felt. But pray believe me, I have considered my own worldly position. When I explained it to you, we were already engaged. I beg, said Mr. Spenlow, more like punch than I had ever seen him, as he energetically struck one hand upon the other, I could not help noticing that even in my despair that you will not talk to me of engagements, Mr. Copperfield, the otherwise immovable Miss Murdstone laughed contemptuously in one short syllable. When I explained my altered position to you, sir, I began again, substituting a new form of expression for what was so unpalatable to him. This concealment into which I am so unhappy as to have led, Miss Spenlow had begun. Since I have been in that altered position, I have strained every nerve. I have exerted every energy to improve it. I am sure I shall improve it in time. Will you grant me time? Any length of time? We are both so young, sir. You are right, interrupted Mr. Spenlow, nodding his head a great many times and frowning very much. You are both very young. It is all nonsense. Let there be an end of the nonsense. Take away those letters and throw them in the fire. Give me Miss Spenlow's letters to throw in the fire. And although our future intercourse must, you are aware, be restricted to the commons, here we will agree to make no further mention of the past. Come, Mr. Copperfield. You don't want sense, and this is the sensible course. No, I couldn't think of agreeing to it. I was very sorry, but there was a higher consideration than sense. Love was above all earthly considerations, and I loved Dora to idolatry. And Dora loved me. I didn't exactly say so. I softened it down as much as I could, but I implied it, and I was resolute upon it. I don't think I made myself very ridiculous, but I know I was resolute. Very well, Mr. Copperfield, said Mr. Spenlow, I must try my influence with my daughter. Miss Murdstone, by an expressive sound, a long drawn respiration, which was neither a sigh nor a moan, but was like both, gave it as her opinion that he should have done this at first. I must try, said Mr. Spenlow, confirmed by this support my influence with my daughter. Do you decline to take those letters, Mr. Copperfield? For I had laid them on the table. Yes, I told him I hoped he would not think it wrong, but I couldn't possibly take them from Miss Murdstone. Nor from me, said Mr. Spenlow. No, I replied with the profoundest respect. Nor from him. Very well, said Mr. Spenlow. A silence succeeding, I was undecided whether to go or stay. At length I was moving quietly towards the door with the intention of saying that perhaps I should consult his feelings best by withdrawing, when he said, with his hands in his coat pockets, into which it was as much as he could do to get them, and with what I should call upon the whole a decidedly pleasant, pious air. You are probably aware, Mr. Copperfield, that I am not altogether destitute of worldly possessions and that my daughter is my nearest and dearest relative. I hurriedly made him a reply to the effect that I hoped the error into which I had been betrayed by the desperate nature of my love did not induce him to think me mercenary too. So he's saying he hopes that Mr. Spenlow doesn't think that he's after Dora's money. I don't allude to the matter in that light, said Mr. Spenlow. It would be better for yourself and all of us if you were mercenary, Mr. Copperfield. I mean, if you were more discreet and less influenced by all this youthful nonsense. No, I merely say, with quite another view. You are probably aware I have some property to bequeath to my child. I certainly supposed so. And you can hardly think, said Mr. Spenlow, having experience of what we see in the Commons here every day, of the various unaccountable and negligent proceedings of men in respect of their testamentary arrangements of all subjects, the one on which perhaps the strangest revelations of human consistency are to be met with. But that mine are made. I inclined my head in acquiescence. I should not allow, said Mr. Spenlow with an evident increase of pious sentiment and slowly shaking his head as he poised himself upon his toes and heels, alternately my suitable provision for my child to be influenced by a piece of youthful folly like the present, it is mere folly, mere nonsense. In a little while it will weigh lighter than any feather. But I might, I might, if this silly business were not completely relinquished altogether, be induced in some anxious moment to guard her from and surround her with protections against the consequences of any foolish step in the way of marriage. Now, Mr. Copperfield, I hope that you will not render it necessary for me to open, even for a quarter of an hour, that closed page in the book of life and unsettle, even for a Quarter of an hour. Grave affairs, long since composed. Okay, so he's threatening to disinherit Dora if she marries against his wishes. There was a serenity, a tranquillity, a calm sunset air about him which quite affected me. He was so peaceful and resigned, clearly had his affairs in such perfect train and so systematically wound up that he was a man to feel touched in the contemplation of. I really think I saw tears rise to his eyes from the depths of his own feeling of all this. But what could I do? I could not deny Dora and my own heart when he told me I had better take a week to consider of what he had said. How could I say I wouldn't take a week? Yet how could I fail to know that no amount of weeks could influence such love as mine? In the meantime, confer with Miss Trotwood or with any person with any knowledge of life, said Mr. Spenlow, adjusting his cravat with both hands. Take a week, Mr. Copperfield. I submitted, and with a countenance as expressive as I was able to make it of dejected and despairing constancy, came out of the room. Ms. Murdstone's heavy eyebrows followed me to the door. I say her eyebrows rather than her eyes, because they were much more important in her face. Face. And she looked so exactly as she used to look at about that hour of the morning in our parlor at Blunderstone that I could have fancied I had been breaking down in my lessons again, and that the dead weight on my mind was that horrible old spelling book with oval woodcuts shaped to my youthful fancy like the glasses out of spectacles. When I got to the office and shutting out old Tiffy and the rest of them with my hands, sat at my desk in my own particular nook, thinking of this earthquake that had taken place so unexpectedly and in the bitterness of my spirit cursing Jip, I fell into such a state of torment about Dora that I wonder I did not take up my hat and rushed insanely to Norwood. The idea of their frightening her and making her cry and of my not being there to comfort her, was so excruciating that it impelled me to write a wild letter to Mr. Spenlow, beseeching him not to visit upon her the consequences of my awful destiny. I implored him to spare her gentle nature not to crush a fragile flower, and addressed him generally to the best of my remembrance, as if, instead of being her father, he had been an ogre or the dragon of Wantley. So the dragon Of Wantley was a popular story from a magazine of the time about a dragon slaying. This letter I sealed and laid upon his desk before he returned. And when he came in I saw him through the half opened door of his room take it up and read it. He said nothing about it all morning but before he went away in the afternoon he called me in and told me that I need not make myself at all uneasy about his daughter's happiness. He had assured her, he said, that it was all nonsense and he had nothing more to say to her. He believed he was an indulgent father, as indeed he was and I might spare myself any solicitude on her account. You may make it necessary if you are foolish or obstinate, Mr. Copperfield. He observed for me to send my daughter abroad again for a term. But I have a better opinion of you. I hope you will be wiser than that in a few days. As to Miss Murdstone, for I had alluded to her in the letter I respect that lady's vigilance and feel obliged to her but she has strict charge to avoid the subject. All I desire, Mr. Copperfield, is that it should be forgotten. All you have got to do, Mr. Copperfield, is to forget it all. In the note I wrote to Miss Mills I bitterly quoted this sentiment. All I had to do, I said with gloomy sarcasm, was to forget Dora. That was all. And what was that? I entreated Miss Mills to see me that evening if it could not be done. With Mr. Mills's sanction and concurrence I besought a clandestine interview in the back kitchen where the main angle was. I informed her that my reason was tottering on its throne and only she, Ms. Mills, could prevent its being deposed. I signed myself hers distractedly and I couldn't help feeling, while I read this composition over before sending it by a porter, that it was something in the style of Mr. Micawber. However I sent it. At night I repaired to Miss Mills's street and walked up and down until I was stealthily fetched in by Miss Mills's maid and taken the area way to the back kitchen. I have since seen reason to believe that there was nothing on earth to prevent my going in at the front door and being shown up into the drawing room except Miss Mills's love of the romantic and mysterious. In the back kitchen I raved, as became me. I went there, I suppose, to make a fool of myself and I am quite sure I did it. Miss Mills had received a hasty note from Dora telling her that all was discovered and saying, oh, pray come to me, Julia. Do, do. But Miss Mills, mistrusting the acceptability of her presence to the higher powers, had not yet gone, and we were all benighted in the desert of Sahara. Miss Mills had a wonderful flow of words and liked to pour them out. I could not help feeling, though she mingled her tears with mine, that she had a dreadful luxury in our afflictions. She petted them, as I may say, and made the most of them. A deep gulf, she observed, had opened between Dora and me, and love could only span it with its rainbow. Love must suffer in this stern world. It ever had been so, it ever would be so. No matter, Miss Mills remarked. Hearts confined by cobwebs would burst at last, and then love was avenged. This was small consolation, but Miss Mills wouldn't encourage fallacious hopes. Face, she made me much more wretched than I was before, and I felt and told her with the deepest gratitude that she was indeed a friend. We resolved that she should go to Dora the first thing in the morning and find some means of assuring her, either by looks or words, of my devotion and misery. We parted overwhelmed with grief, and I think Miss Mills enjoyed herself completely. I confided all to my aunt when I got home and in spite of all she could say to me, went to bed despairing. I got up despairing, and went out despairing. It was Saturday morning, and I went straight to the commons. I was surprised when I came within sight of our office door to see the ticket porters standing outside talking together and some half dozen stragglers gazing at the windows which were shut up. I quickened my pace, and passing among them, wondering at their looks, went hurriedly in. The clerks were there, but nobody was doing anything. Old Tiffy, for the first time in his life, I should think, was sitting on somebody else's stool and had not hung up his hat. This is a dreadful calamity, Mr. Copperfield, said he as I entered. What is? I exclaimed. What's the matter? Don't you know? Cried Tiffey, and all the rest of them coming round me. No, said I, looking from face to face. Mr. Spenlow, said Tiffy. What about him? Dead, I thought it was the office reeling and not I, as one of the clerks caught hold of me. They sat me down in a chair, untied my neckcloth, and brought me some water. I have no idea whether this took any time. Dead, said I. He dined in town yesterday and drove down in the phaeton by himself, said Tiffy having sent his own groom home by the coach, as he sometimes did, you know well the phaeton went home without him. The horses stopped at the stable gate. The man went out with a lantern. Nobody in the carriage. Had they run away? They were hot, said Tiffy, putting on his glasses. No hotter, I understand, than they would have been going down at the usual pace. The reins were broken, but they had been dragging on the ground. The house was roused up directly, and three of them went out along the road. They found him a mile off. More than a mile off, Mr. Tiffey interposed. A junior, was it? I believe you are right, said Tiffy. More than a mile off, not far from the church, lying partly on the roadside and partly on the path upon his face. Whether he fell out in a fit, or got out feeling ill before the fit came on, or even whether he was quite dead then, though there is no doubt he was quite insensible. No one appears to know if he breathed. Certainly he never spoke. Medical assistance was got as soon as possible, but it was quite useless. I cannot describe the state of mind into which I was thrown by this intelligence, the shock of such an event happening so suddenly, and happening to one with whom I had been in any respect at variance. The appalling vacancy in the room he had occupied so lately, where his chair and table seemed to wait for him, and his handwriting of yesterday was like a ghost. The indefinable impossibility of separating him from the place and feeling when the door opened, as if he might come in the lazy hush and rest there was in the office, and the insatiable relish with which our people talked about it and other people came in and out all day and gorged themselves with the subject. This is easily intelligible to anyone. What I cannot describe is how in the innermost recesses of my heart I had a lurking jealousy even of death How I felt as if its might would push me from my ground in Dora's thoughts. How I was in a grudging way I have no words for, envious of her grief. How it made me restless to think of her weeping to others, or being consoled by others how I had a grasping, avaricious wish to shut out everybody from her but myself, and to be all in all to her at that unseasonable time of all times in the trouble of this state of mind, not exclusively my own, I hope, but known to others, I went down to Norwood that night, and finding from one of the servants, when I made my inquiries at the door and that Ms. Mills was there, got my aunt to direct a letter to her, which I wrote. I deplored the untimely death of Mr. Spenlow most sincerely and shed tears in doing so. I entreated her to tell Dora, if Dora were in a state to hear it, that he had spoken to me with the utmost kindness and consideration and had coupled nothing but tenderness, not a single or reproachful word with her name. I know I did this selfishly to have my name brought before her, but I tried to believe it was an act of justice to his memory. Perhaps I did believe it. My aunt received a few lines next day in reply, addressed outside to her, within to me. Dora was overcome by grief and when her friend had asked her should she send her love to me, had only cried, as she was always crying. Oh, dear papa. Oh, poor papa. But she had not said no, and that I made the most of Mr. Jorkins, who had been at Norwood since the occurrence, came to the office a few days afterwards. He and Tiffy were closeted together for some few moments and then Tiffey looked out at the door and beckoned me in. Oh, said Mr. Jorkins, Mr. Tiffey and myself, Mr. Copperfield, are about to examine the desk, desks, the drawers and other such repositories of the deceased with the view of sealing up his private papers and searching for a will. There is no trace of any elsewhere. It may be as well for you to assist us, if you please. I had been in agony to obtain some knowledge of the circumstances in which my Dora would be placed, as in whose guardianship, and so forth, and this was something towards it, it we began the search at once, Mr. Jorkins Unlocking the drawers and desks and we all taking out the papers. The office papers were placed on one side and the private papers, which were not numerous, on the other. We were very grave. And when we came to a stray seal or pencil case or ring or any little article of that kind which we associated personally with him, we spoke very low. We had sealed up several packets and were still going on dustily and quietly when Mr. Jorkins said to us, applying exactly the same words to his late partner as his late partner had applied to him. Mr. Spenlow was very difficult to move from the beaten track. You know what he was. I am disposed to think he had made no will. Oh, I know he had, said I. They both stopped and looked at me on the very day when I last saw him, said I. He told me that he had and that his affairs were long since settled. Mr. Jorkins and old Tiffey shook their heads with one accord. That looks unpromising, said Tiffy. Very unpromising, said Mr. Jorkins. Surely you don't doubt. I began. My good Mr. Copperfield, said Tiffey, laying his hand upon my arm and shutting up both his eyes as he shook his head. If you had been in the Commons as long as I have, you would know that there is no subject on which men are so inconsistent and so little to be trusted. Why, bless my soul. He made that very remark, I replied persistently. I should call that almost final, observed Tiffy. My opinion is no will. It appeared a wonderful thing to me, something to be wondered at, not something great. But it turned out that there was no will. He had never so much as thought of making one so far as his papers afforded any evidence for there was no kind of hint, sketch or memorandum of any testamentary intention whatsoever. What was scarcely less astonishing to me was that his affairs were in a most disordered state. It was extremely difficult, I heard, to make out what he owed or what he had paid, or of what he died possessed. It was considered likely that for years he could have had no clear opinion on these subjects himself. Himself. By little and little it came out that in the competition on all points of appearance and gentility then running high in the Commons, he had spent more than his professional income, which was not a very large one, and had reduced his private means, if they ever had been great, which was exceedingly doubtful, to a very low ebb indeed. There was a sale of the furniture and lease at Norwood, and Tiffy told me little, thinking how interested I was in the story that paying all the just debts of the deceased and deducting his share of outstanding bad and doubtful debts due to the firm, he wouldn't give a thousand pounds for all the assets remaining. This was at the expiration of about six weeks. I had suffered tortures all the time and thought I really must have laid violent hands upon myself when Ms. Mills still reported to me that my broken hearted little Dora would say nothing when I was mentioned but oh, poor papa, oh, dear Papa. Also that she had no other relations than two aunts, maiden sisters of Mr. Spenlow who lived at Putney and who had not held any other than chance communication with their brother for many years. Not that they had ever quarrelled, Ms. Mills informed me, but that having been, on the occasion of Dora's christening invited to tea when they considered themselves privileged to be invited to dinner, they had expressed their opinion in writing. That it was better for the happiness of all parties that they should stay away. Since which they had gone their road and their brother had gone his. These two ladies now emerged from their retirement. And proposed to take Dora to live at Putney. Dora, clinging to them both and weeping, exclaimed, oh, yes, Aunts, please take Julia Mills and me and Chip to Putney. So they went very soon after the funeral. How I found time to haunt Putney, I am sure I don't know. But I contrived by some means or other to prowl about the neighborhood pretty often. Ms. Mills, for the more exact discharge of the duties of friendship, kept a journal. And she used to meet me sometimes on the common and read it. Or if she had not time to do that, lend it to me. How I treasured up the entries of which I subjoin. An example. So this is an excerpt from Ms. Mills's journal that she's sharing with David. Monday, my sweet D. Still much depressed headache. Called attention to J. As being beautifully sleek. So J. Being jip. D. Fondled J. Associations thus awakened opened floodgates of sorrow. Rush of grief admitted our tears, the dew drops of the heart. JM Tuesday D. Weak and nervous, beautiful in pallor. Do we not remark this in moon? Likewise JM D, J. M and J. Took airing in carriage J. Looking out of window and barking violently at dustman. Occasion smile to overspread features of D. Of such slight links is chain of life composed. JM so JM Is Julia Mills. So she's signing these little philosophical musings that she's making. Wednesday D. Comparatively cheerful. Sang to her as congenial melody. Evening bells effect not soothing but reverse. D. Inexpressibly affected, found sobbing afterwards in own room. Quoted verses respecting self and young gazelle Ineffectually also referred to patience on monument. Query why on monument? JM so patience on monument is an expression that means sort of suffering silently or bearing up under difficult circumstances. But it's a reference from Twelfth Night. But clearly Julia Mills doesn't know that. Thursday D. Certainly improved better night. Slight tinge of damask revisiting cheek. Resolved to mention name of D. C. Introduced same cautiously in course of airing. D. Immediately overcome. Oh, dear Julia. Oh, I have been a naughty and undutiful child. Soothed and caressed. Drew ideal picture of DC on verge of tomb. D. Again overcome. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? O, take me somewhere. Much alarmed fainting of D. And glass of water from public house. Poetical affinity. Checkered sign on doorpost. Checkered human life alas. JM Friday day of incident man appears in kitchen with blue bag, four ladies boots left out to heel. Cook replies no such orders, man argues point. Cook withdraws to inquire, leaving man alone with J. On Cook's return, man still argues point but ultimately goes J missing D distracted information sent to police man to be identified by broad nose and legs like balustrades of bridge. Search made in every direction. No J. D weeping bitterly and inconsolable. Renewed reference to young gazelle appropriate but unavailing towards evening. Strange boy calls brought into parlor, broad nose but no balustrades. Says he wants a pound and knows a dog. Declines to explain further, though much pressed. Pound being produced by D. Takes Cook to little house where J alone tied up to leg of table. Joy of D. Who dances round J while he eats his supper. Emboldened by this happy change, mention D. C. Upstairs D. Weeps afresh, cries piteously, oh don't, don't, don't. It is so wicked to think of anything but poor Papa embraces J. And sobs herself to sleep. Must not DC Confine himself to the broad pinions of time. J M Ms. Mills and her journal were my sole consolation at this period. To see her who had seen Dora but a little while before, to trace the initial letter of Dora's name through her sympathetic pages, to be made more and more miserable by her were my only comforts. I felt as if I had been living in a palace of cards which had tumbled down, leaving only Ms. Mills and me among the room. I felt as if some grim enchanter had drawn a magic circle round the innocent goddess of my heart, which nothing indeed but those same strong pinions capable of carrying so many people over so much, would enable me to enter. 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 and Online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. 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