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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. I want to say thank you to everyone who came to Tea Time last night, which is a little strange to say because I'm actually recording this before Tea time happened, Tea time was Wednesday night. And so in order to get this out for Thursday morning, I had to record it before that. But I know that people are coming and I know that we're going to have a wonderful time. We always do. We always have the most lovely conversations and it's always so much fun. So I know in advance that I can say thank you so much to those of you who came to Tea Time yesterday. And I was thinking about this. The next Tea Tea Time will be once we've finished this book, we will have finished the book and we will know what our next book is going to be. Because remember, the trailer is going to drop on August 8th. So if you missed Tea Time because you're not yet a member of the drawing room online community, or because you are a houseguest and not landed gentry, next Tea Time would be an amazing time to join us. And you can just join us and see and if you don't like it, if it wasn't fun for you, you can cancel. You can go back to being a guest, you can cancel your membership entirely. You can just leave. You can storm out of the drawing room and slam the door and you know, cause all kinds of melodrama in the house, whatever, you don't have to stay. But if you'd like to join and just sort of see what it's like, I would say that next Tea Time is probably gonna be a great one to come to. So I will let you know when that is in the next couple of weeks. I will keep you posted and put that on the calendar and you can decide if you want to sign up. If you are like, I want to sign up right now, but how do I do it? It's very easy. You just scroll into the show notes the description of this episode. You click on the link that is clearly labeled there. You get taken to a website that will give you more information. You decide if you want to do it. And then you follow the very clear instructions for how to do that. And if you're having any trouble at all, you can always just email me using the same contact link that you use when you email me a question. So hopefully you will do that and we'll get to have some new voices in our voice chat in August. I would be really happy if that happened. So I hope you'll do that. Okay. Otherwise I don't really have any other announcements or anything, just the usual stuff. Please subscribe. Please tap the five stars. If you're enjoying the show, please tell everyone you know about it. I am getting so many amazing emails, you guys, of people telling me all of the people that they have told about this show and then all the ways that they're connected, connecting with family members, connecting with friends, connecting with just people that they're sitting next to in restaurants. It's amazing. So thank you, thank you, thank you. And please keep that up. Keep up the good work and I hope that once our next book starts, we'll get even more people to join us because the more the merrier. I mean, truly, it's amazing to have all of you listening and reading these great books. That's a wonderful, wonderful thing. So please do spread the word if you can and just check out the show notes, see if there's a link there that might interest you. Check out the merch, check out the David Copperfield merch that is there now. And let's get into this episode because we actually have a lot to talk about. This was such a juicy chapter in the end, wasn't it? So last time we read chapter 58, today we're going to read chapter 59. Let's begin by reminding ourselves of what happened. Then I'll read some questions and we'll talk and then we'll get back into this because we're just dying to know what's going to happen, right? So here is the the recap. Alright, so where we left off. Now that the immigrants are on their way, David is free to take his trip abroad, which everyone thought would be good for him in his grief. So he goes away and at first he is filled with overwhelming sorrow. He grieves not only for Dora, but also for Steerforth and Ham and his own mother and everyone he's loved and lost. And he feels like that a long time, even to the point of feeling like he might die of grief. But eventually he starts to feel a little better. And one day while he's traveling through Switzerland, he receives a letter from Agnes, which reminds him that she knows he will do great things and that the sorrow he feels will just spur him further onward. This letter helps him to pull himself out of his grief and he decides to stay and settle in Switzerland, where he begins writing again and sends his novels to Traddles, who gets them published and David becomes a famous author. During this time, David reveals to us something that he has kept hidden, which is that he's realized that he is in love with Agnes. He realizes that she probably was in love with him at one time, but that his total obliviousness and his falling in love with Dora made it so that Agnes feels that he could never love her that way. And so he thinks that she's probably moved on from loving him and it's too late. He tells us, though, that he sees that now the sense of something missing in his marriage with Dora wouldn't have been there with Agnes, because Agnes is the person, after all, who would fill all the gaps in his life. But he's sure it's too late and that she would never love him like that now. So he doesn't want to say anything to her about his feelings because he doesn't want any kind of awkwardness to come between them when she tells him that she doesn't love him. Eventually he decides it's time to come home. And he tells us that when he arrives back in England, it has been three years since he left it. Okay, I'm going to read 5 comments today. The first one comes from Lindsay Tennant. I hope I'm saying that first name correctly. It's spelled a little differently, but hopefully that's right. If it's not, I'm very sorry. But it says, oh boy. That is my reaction to David's not wanting to pursue Agnes. A little sigh put in there too. I am like, ugh. I really hope he changes his mind and talks to her and communicates his feelings. The next one comes from Paula Fernandez. She says, I have so many mixed emotions about this chapter. How Dickens described the stages of grief was so on target. As the chapter progressed, my love for Agnes continued to increase. She provided hope and encouragement to David. When David realized that he loved Agnes, I thought, finally, as quickly as that occurred, it was as if the balloon deflated. He convinced himself that he missed his opportunity with Agnes. For someone who was Team Agnes so many chapters ago, it was a depressing way to end the chapter. The third one comes from Peter Conrad Connicker. He says, I can't help but laugh a little at David at the end of chapter 58. He's so affected by his emotions it's blinding him. Who can doubt now that he'll end up with Agnes in the end? The next one comes from our online community, the Drawing Room. And this person goes by the handle Acher. He says, so anyone else now wondering if adult David has been tinkering the story he's presented to conceal his feelings for Agnes? He did say it was a secret he's kept close to his chest this whole time. Were his encounters and statements to Uriah how they actually occurred, or were things tweaked to avoid dropping a direct hint? And the last one also comes from the drawing room, and this person goes by the handle randygordon. He says David is wallowing, and then, with Agnes's quiet and loving support, navigating through his grief. Agnes is his keel, stabilizing him and his lighthouse guiding him. His work as a writer helps fill his sails, moving him slowly forward. And writing from the heart, he's beginning to know his own heart. Okay, so Agnes, right? I mean, this is the thing that is left, isn't it? We've been talking about how all the various plot threads are wrapping up, and the one plot thread that's left is David's plot thread. Everyone else is taken care of for better or for worse, but David remains. And what is the thing that is left unfinished for David? It's his romantic life, right? His professional life is going great. He was already doing very well as a writer when he left to go abroad. While he's abroad, he writes even more and becomes even more successful. He has a loving mother figure in Miss Betsy. He has a wonderful best friend in Traddles. He has another loving mother figure in Peggy. He's got it made, essentially, except for this one thing. He has no romantic partner to share all of this with. And Lindsay and Paula are absolutely not alone in their reactions. I mean, all of this time we've been like, david, hello, wake up, please. The love of your life is right there in front of you. And it's Agnes. And David has been wandering around falling in love with Ms. Shepherd and Ms. Larkins and finally with Dora. And we have been over here trying to, like, reach into the book and shake him. And now finally, finally, David is like, I think I'm gonna actually be in love with Agnes. And, you know, if you were wondering what that sound was on Monday, it was all of you yelling, yes, you idiot. Yes. Like, into the book, okay? But the very next thing that he tells us after he reveals this to us is that it's too late, right? He can't be with Agnes. That ship has sailed. It's over. She might have loved him once, but she's totally over it because David didn't go for her when he had the chance. Here's what he says. That if she had ever loved me with another love, and I sometimes thought the time was when she might have done so, I had cast it away. It was nothing. Now that I had accustomed myself to think of her when we were both mere children, as one who was far removed from my wild fancies, I had bestowed my passionate tenderness upon another object. And what I might have done, I had not done. And what Agnes was to me, I and her own noble heart had made her okay. And he feels that telling her now would just, like, ruin their friendship. He doesn't want that. So it's not going to happen. He says I could not have borne to lose the smallest portion of her sisterly affection. Yet in that betrayal, I should have set a constraint between us hitherto unknown. I mean, that's actually really relatable, right? It's kind of high school, I guess. Very kind of young adult. You're friends with someone, you realize you have romantic feelings for them, and then you're kind of stuck because you know that if you tell them and they don't feel the same way, then your friendship is pretty much over. So do you risk the friendship in order to be with this person romantically, or do you suppress your romantic feelings and enjoy friendship that you have? It's a tricky question, and it has real ramifications. But of course, for us who have been waiting this entire book essentially, for these two to get together, it's really frustrating and pretty disappointing. But I included Peter's letter as well, because there is definitely a contingent of you out there that thinks it's still going to happen, right? That David is essentially kind of talking himself out of this relationship because it is so important and so, so meaningful. She's. I mean, she's the love of his life, basically, and he's scared to do anything that would cause him to lose her. But you guys, this group of you think that eventually he's going to have to tell her that you can't be that in love with someone and that connected to them and not, like, spill the beans eventually. I, of course, will reveal nothing. I am not revealing anything that's going to happen. But I did want to let you know, particularly those of you who are feeling really defeated right now, I wanted to let you know that some of you are feeling much more hopeful. There are two camps again, again, basically. And it is true that David is wrestling with himself. You know, initially, he doesn't totally write off the idea of getting together with Agnes. He says, I did glance through some indefinite probation to a period when I might possibly hope to cancel the mistaken past and to be so blessed as to marry her. But as time wore on, this shadowy prospect faded and departed from me. If she had ever loved me, then I should hold her the more sacred, remembering the confidences I had reposed in her, her knowledge of my errant heart, sacrifice she must have made to be my friend and sister, and the victory she had won. If she had never loved me, could I believe that she would love me now? And I. I kind of think this is valid. I mean, he's saying that if Agnes did love him at some point, imagine how awful it must have been for her to listen to him going on and on about all these other women and then getting married, so closing the door on their relationship seemingly forever. And if that was true, she bore it with such dignity and such cheerfulness and such love and care of David that if she has now kind of conquered that feeling and she doesn't love him anymore, then it would be sort of cruel for him to show up and be like, okay, thanks for waiting. I love you now. Right? But I think the one thing that he doesn't consider, and we also don't know if this is true or not, so it could be not true, but he doesn't even consider it, is the idea that Agnes might have been in love with him and is still in love with him. Right. It is possible that the reason that she's not married, for example, is that she doesn't want anyone but David. I'm not saying that's true. I'm just saying that that is an option. And David doesn't even go there, most likely because he won't let himself go there. He realizes now that he loves Agnes, but it's terrifying to think of actually telling her this. So he's kind of retreating behind this idea that she doesn't love him and that telling her how he feels would just ruin everything. But, I mean, would it? I think that's still an open question. So I think there is potentially still hope in the sense that the book isn't over yet. But it's certainly true that David is saying that there is no hope, that he's gonna keep his feelings to himself, and therefore he's gonna never know whether it might have worked. Out between him and Agnes. Which brings me to this question, Acher's question of whether David has been an unreliable narrator. Because we get this thing in this chapter where David tells us that there's something he hasn't revealed to us until this moment, which of is that he began to realize that he was in love with Agnes. Here's that quote he says. I have desired to keep the most secret current of my mind apart to the last. I enter on it now. I cannot so completely penetrate the mystery of my own heart as to know when I began to think that I might have set its earliest and brightest hopes on Agnes. Okay, so I actually read this to mean that in this chapter he has saved this piece of information for last. Not that during the whole story he actually loved Agnes, but didn't tell us. In other words, I think that when he told Uriah, for example, that he had no intention of marrying Agnes, it was true. And when he told us all of this time that he wasn't in love with Agnes and that he saw her as his sister, I think that was true. He seems to be saying that it was during his time abroad and in this time of grief, right? Which was grief for Dora, but also kind of for all the people that he's lost along the way. I mean, he says, if my grief were selfish, I did not know it to be. So I mourned for my child wife taken from her blooming world so young. I mourned for him who might have won the love and admiration of thousands as he had won mine long ago. I mourned for the broken heart that had found rest in the stormy sea and for the wandering remnants of the simple home where I had heard the night wind blowing when I was a child. Right? There's been a lot of loss for him in his life. And the loss of Dora is bringing that up for him so that now he's grieving for his mother, his lost childhood. He's grieving for Ham and Steerforth and Mr. Peggotty and Emily going away. Basically everyone that he has loved and lost since this whole story began. So during this time of grief, it's like he processes all of these emotions that he hadn't yet allowed himself to process or didn't even know he had or whatever. And at the end of that, the thing that remains, the thing he realizes is that he's in love with Agnes. And I think that we're meant to feel that what's happening is that he's realizing that this feeling that he's always had for Agnes, that she's an angel, that she makes him calm, that she gives him really good advice, that he's happy, happy when he's near her. He's realizing that that feeling is romantic love. He thought romantic love was the kind of like passionate, crazed, lust filled frenzy that he initially felt for Dora and for all of his other crushes. And so he didn't realize that the much calmer, much deeper, much more grateful, more awestruck feeling that he feels for Agnes, he didn't realize that that is real love. It's the deep connection that he always felt was missing in his marriage to Dora. So he's not saying that he was in love with Agnes all this time, even when he was married to Dora or something. He's saying that he realizes now that everything he's always felt for Agnes is love. So he's always loved her, but he didn't know he loved her until he comes out of this period of grief. But what is true is that this whole book is being written by a David who knows how it all ends, right? A David who presumably knows if he ends up with Agnes or not. Who knows whether he stuck to his decision not to tell her how he feels or if he gave in and told her. And if he did tell her this, David knows what happened, what came of that. But, and this has been such a brilliant and important part of the book all along, I think. But he's been telling us his story from the perspective of the version of himself that is living it, meaning he could have told us like, I didn't know then that I was in love with Agnes, so I thought my feelings for Dora were true love, but now I know that it was actually love that I was feeling for Agnes. I mean, whatever. But he, he could have said that, but that would have taken us out of the moment. It would have given us information that David didn't have at the time, which would then have colored our experience of the story. And I think that would have been a mistake. And I'm really glad that Dickens didn't do that. Instead, he has just given us these little hints along the way that he's out there, that he's all grown up, that the turmoil he's describing is past, that he's okay, that he has at least one child. And that allows us to hear about all of his trials and triumphs and ups and downs with a little bit of hope. And I think that's brilliant writing and it really, really works from like a narrative perspective. So he's not an unreliable narrator in the usual sense, but he is choosing to share only what he knew at the time, time, and not everything he knows now, whenever now happens to be for him. We don't know yet. Right. But I want to end by just talking a little bit about this scene in the Swiss Valley because it's such a beautiful moment, and I think it's important. You know, over in the drawing room, a lot of people were talking about how this moment when David kind of rambles through the Swiss Alps and finds himself in this valley, how it reminded them of Frankenstein. And I was so happy to see that because that was the way I felt when I was reading this. This time around as well. In the same way that Victor. Victor Frankenstein always found comfort and peace in that Swiss landscape. Dickens has David do that, too. So that's a neat connection between two books that we've read on here. But even more than that, the imagery that we get in this section is really important, I think, and it solidifies this idea that we've had throughout the book of Agnes as an angel. And I think that there is an intentional kind of gesture going on on Dickens's part here to Psalm 23 from the Bible. I don't know that for sure. That is just my interpretation, but to me, it seems very clear. So I want to actually read you that psalm. It's very short. I'm sure many of you know it already and have it memorized and stuff. But for those who don't or who need a reminder, I want to read it to you, and then I want to try to show you what I think Dickens is doing here. And then we'll move on to the chapter, because it's really beautiful. So I'm gonna do just, like, a little bit of literary analysis here. I'm gonna geek out for a few seconds because I can do that here. If I can't do it here, I mean, where can I? Right, so this is Psalm 23, and I am reading from the King James version of the Bible. So here it is. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with Oil my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Okay, so this psalm obviously is about many things, I think, but one of them is this idea of walking through something terrible, something dangerous and scary. Right? The valley of the shadow of death. And because the Lord is by your side, you survive it. Not only do you survive it, you thrive and you come out the other side. Right, so right before this scene in the valley, and note that it actually is a valley that David is in. Okay, so right before that, David has been telling us about the extreme grief that he has suffered through when he went abroad. And he tells us, listlessness to everything but brooding sorrow was the night that fell on my undisciplined heart. Let me look up from it as at last I did thank heaven, and from its long, sad, wretched dream to dawn. Okay, so here he is in this valley, the valley of the shadow of death, the valley of his grief. And he's telling us that thanks to heaven, thanks to God, he came through that valley and out the other side. So what happens in the valley? Well, the first thing that happens is that immediately upon entering the valley, he feels that there is some sort of divine presence there. He feels in his heart that something good might happen. He feels protected and like perhaps this long time of grief might eventually end. He says, I came one evening before sunset down into a valley where I was to rest in the course of my descent to it, by the winding track along the mountainside from which I saw it shining far below. I think some long, unwanted sense of beauty and tranquillity, some softening influence awakened by its peace, moved faintly in my breast. I remember pausing once with a kind of sorrow that was not all oppressive, not quite despairing. I remember almost hoping that some better change was possible within me. Okay, so in this place, this place made sacred because of the beauty of nature, that's that romantic idea we talked about in Frankenstein, right? So this place made sacred because of the beauty of nature and because. Because of the peace that he feels when he enters it in this place. He hears this music and he knows it's actually just shepherds singing, but he can't shake the feeling that it's actually angels singing. The Lord is my shepherd, right? It's shepherds, but it's also angels. The Lord is the shepherd. And it's at the moment when he hears these voices that he suddenly allows himself to release all these pent up feelings that he's been carrying with him all this time. He restoreth my soul. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Right? And the next thing that happens, while these angel voices, these shepherd voices are still singing, the next thing that happens is that he reads this letter from Agnes. Now, remember, all along, ever since he met her, David has associated Agnes with angels. He first saw her in front of that window that made him think of stained glass windows at church. And ever since then, he has called her his angel. And now he reads her letter. And her letter really does actually kind of sound like a message from the heavens, because she gives him exactly the message that he needs to pull himself through this valley and out the other side. David says she knew that in me sorrow could not be weakness, but must be strength. As the endurance of my childish days had done its part to make me what I was, so greater calamities would nerve me on to be yet better than I was, was. And so, as they had taught me, would I teach others. It's such an important message, right? Like Randy was saying in his letter, she's essentially saying you can't wallow in your sadness anymore. She's saying you are a person who has suffered all kinds of sorrow in your life. And just like your initial hardships with losing your mother and becoming homeless and everything, those turned you into the hard working, loyal, loving man that you are today, just like that, this. This sorrow of losing Dora will also make him into a better man. Sorrow will be and has always been a part of him, but he doesn't have to let it take over his life. He can live again, and he must. That is what Agnes. Agnes the angel. That's what she's telling him in the valley. Okay? And if we needed any more evidence that Agnes is the angel, here it is at the exact moment that David finishes her letter that the angelic voices stop singing. So it's like the angels were singing the thing that Agnes's letter was telling him. And the love that David feels for Agnes after reading this is a purer, deeper, truer love than anything else he has experienced before. Right. He says, when I heard the voices die away and saw the quiet evening cloud grow dim and all the colors in the valley fade, and the golden snow upon the mountaintops become a remote part of the pale night sky. Yet felt that the night was passing from my mind and all its shadows clearing, There was no name for the love I bore her, dearer to me henceforward than ever until then. Now, my point here is not that Agnes is God or Something like that. But I do think that Dickens is using this imagery of the valley and the loving presence that guides you through it. He's using that to describe to us what Agnes means to David. Because there has always been a kind of holy quality to Agnes. Or maybe I should say David has always felt that Agnes is holy. The thing that he now realizes is love, romantic love. It has manifested to him always as a kind of otherworldliness, a sort of too good for mere humanity ness. And so he casts her in these biblical terms, which I think is really beautiful. She is his. His lodestar, the point toward which he has navigated his life, and he's only just now realizing it. But of course, the question is, is it too late? Right. David feels that it is. He feels that he's wrestled with his love for her and. And kind of won. He loves her, he'll always love her now, but he feels that he's in enough control of it that he can go home again and see her and be the brother that he has always said that he was so as not to disturb or upset her or mess up their friendship. And he says, here's a quote. And home was very dear to me and Agnes too, but she was not mine. She was never to be mine. She might have been, but that was past. So the question is, is that true? Has the ship sailed, so to speak, or is there actually hope for David and Agnes? And if there isn't, how will David's story end? Well, we are not at the end yet, but we are getting there. So there's only one way to find out what is going to happen, and that is, of course, to keep reading. But please do get in touch with me. It's faithkmore.com and then you click on Contact, or you can scroll into the show notes. That link is there. Please do let me know what you are thinking, what you are feeling, what questions you have as we read this next chapter. All right, next, let's get started with chapter 59 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 59, return. I landed in London on a wintry autumn evening. It was dark and raining and I saw more fog and mud in a minute than I had seen in a year. I walked from the Custom House to the Monument before I found a coach. And although the very house fronts looking on the swollen gutters were like old friends to me, I could not but admit that they were very dingy friends. I have often remarked, I suppose everybody has, that one's going away from a familiar place would seem to be the signal for change in it. As I looked out of the coach window and observed that an old house on Fish Street Hill, which had stood untouched by painter, carpenter, or bricklayer for a century, had been pulled down in my absence, and that a neighboring street of time honoured insalubrity and inconvenience was being drained and widened, I half expected to find St Paul's Cathedral looking older for some changes in the fortunes of my friends. I was prepared. My aunt had long been re established at Dover, and Traddles had begun to get into some little practice at the bar in the very first term after my departure. He had chambers in Gray's Inn now, and had told me in his last letters that he was not without hopes of being soon united to the dearest girl in the world. They expected me home before Christmas, but had no idea of my returning so soon. I had purposely misled them that I might have the pleasure of taking them by surprise, and yet I was perverse enough to feel a chill and disappointment in receiving no welcome and rattling alone and silent through the misty streets. The well known shops, however, with their cheerful lights did something for me, and when I alighted at the door of the Gray's Inn Coffee House, I had recovered my spirits. It recalled at first that so different time when I had put up at the Golden Cross House and reminded me of the changes that had come to pass since then. But that was natural. Do you know where Mr. Traddles lives in the inn? I asked the waiter as I warmed myself by the coffee room fire. Holborn court, sir. Number two. Mr. Traddles has a rising reputation among the lawyers, I believe, said I. Well, sir, returned the waiter. Probably yes, sir, but I am not aware of it myself. This waiter, who was middle aged and spare, looked for help to a waiter of more authority, a stout potential old man with a double chin in black breeches and stockings, who came out of a place like a churchwarden's pew at the end of the coffee room, where he kept company with a cash box, a directory, a law list, and other books and papers. Mr. Traddles, said the spare waiter, number two in a quart. The potential waiter waved him away and turned gravely to me. I was inquiring, said I, whether Mr. Traddles at number two in the court has not a rising reputation among the lawyers. Never heard his name, said the waiter in a rich, husky voice. I felt quite apologetic for Traddles. He's a young man. Sure, said the portentous Waiter fixing his eyes severely on me. How long has he been in the inn? Not above three years, said I. The waiter, who I suppose had lived in his churchwarden's pew for 40 years, could not pursue such an insignificant subject. He asked me what I would have for dinner. I felt I was in England again and really was quite cast down on Traddles account. There seemed to be no hope for him. I meekly ordered a bit of fish and a steak and stood before the fire musing on his obscurity. As I followed the chief waiter with my eyes I could not help thinking that the garden in which he had gradually bloomed to be the flower he was was an arduous place to rise in. It had such a prescriptive, stiff necked, long established, solemn, elderly air. I glanced about the room which had had its sanded floor sanded, no doubt in exactly the same manner when the chief waiter was a boy, if he ever was a boy, which appeared improbable, and at the shining tables where I saw myself reflecting in unruffled depths of old mahogany and at the lamps without a flaw in their trimming or cleaning, and at the comfortable green curtains with their pure brass rods snugly enclosing the boxes and at the two large coal fires brightly burning, and at the rows of decanters burly as if with the consciousness of pipes of expensive old port wine below. And both England and the law appeared to me to be very difficult indeed to be taken by storm. I went up to my bedroom to change my wet clothes and the vast extent of that old wainscoted apartment which was over the archway leading to the inn, I remember, and the sedate immensity of the four post bedstead and the indomitable gravity of the chests of drawers all seemed to unite in sternly frowning on the fortunes of Traddles or on any such daring youth. I came down again to my dinner and even the slow comfort of the meal and the orderly silence of the place which was bare of guests, the long vacation not yet being over, were eloquent at the audacity of Traddles and his small hopes of a livelihood for 20 years to come. Okay, so he's commenting on the way that the English are sort of set in their ways and don't take notice of anyone unless they've been established a long time, and he's comparing it unfavorably to the other places he's been in his travels and it's making him feel sad for Traddles, even though Traddles is actually doing fine. I had seen nothing like this since I went away, and it quite dashed my hopes for my friend. The chief waiter had had enough of me. He came near me no more, but devoted himself to an old gentleman in long gaiters to meet whom a pint of special port seemed to come out of the cellar of its own accord, for he gave no order. The second waiter informed me in a whisper that this old gentleman was a retired conveyancer living in the square and worth a mint of money, which it was expected he would leave to his laundress's daughter. Likewise, that it was rumoured that he had a service of plate in a bureau all tarnished with lying by, though more than one spoon and a fork had never yet been beheld in his chambers by mortal vision. By this time I quite gave Traddles up for lost and settled in my own mind that there was no hope for him, being very anxious to see the dear old fellow. Nevertheless, I dispatched my dinner in a manner not at all calculated to raise me in the opinion of the chief waiter and hurried out by the back way. Number two in the court was soon reached and an inscription on the door post informing me that Mr. Traddles occupied a set of chambers on the top story. I ascended the staircase, a crazy old staircase. I found it to be feebly lighted on each landing by a club headed little oil wick dying away in a little dungeon of dirty glass. In the course of my stumbling upstairs, I fancied I heard a pleasant sound of laughter. Laughter, and not the laughter of an attorney or barrister or attorney's clerk or barrister's clerk, but of two or three merry girls happening. However, as I stopped to listen to put my foot in a hole where the Honourable Society of Gray's Inn had left a plank deficient, I fell down with some noise and when I recovered my footing all was silent, groping my way more carefully for the rest of the journey my heart beat high. When I found the outer door which had Mr. Traddles painted on it, open, I knocked. A considerable scuffling within ensued, but nothing else. I therefore knocked again. A small sharp looking lad, half footboy and half clerk, who was very much out of breath, but who looked at me as if he defied me to prove it legally presented himself. Is Mr. Traddles within? I said. Yes, sir, but he's engaged. I want to see him. After a moment's survey of me, the sharp looking lad decided to let me in and opening the door wider for that purpose, admitted me first into a little closet of a hall and next into a little sitting room where I came into the presence of my old friend, also out of breath, seated at a table and bending over papers. Good God. Cried Traddles, looking up. It's Copperfield. And he rushed into my arms where I held him tight. All well, my dear Traddles. All well, my dear, dear Copperfield, and nothing but good news. We cried with pleasure, both of us. My dear fellow, said Traddles, rumpling his hair in his excitement, which was a most unnecessary operation. My dearest Copperfield, my long lost and most welcome friend, how glad I am to see you. How brown you are. How glad I am. Upon my life and honour I never was so rejoiced. My beloved Copperfield, never. I was equally at a loss to express my emotions. I was quite unable to speak at first. My dear fellow, said Traddles, and grown so famous. My glorious Copperfield. Good gracious me, when did you come? Where have you come from? What have you been doing? Never pausing for an answer to anything, he said Traddles, who had clapped me into an easy chair by the fire all this time, impetuously stirred the fire with one hand and pulled at my neckerchief with the other under some wild delusion that it was a greatcoat, meaning he's trying to help him off with his coat, except it's actually his neckerchief isn't meant to come off without putting down the poker. He now hugged me again and I hugged him and both laughing and both wiping our eyes, we both sat down and shook hands across the hearth. To think, said Traddles, that you should have been so nearly coming home as you must have been, my dear old boy, and not at the ceremony. What ceremony? My dear Traddles. Good gracious me. Cried Traddles, opening his eyes in his old way. Didn't you get my last letter? Certainly not, if it referred to any ceremony. Why, my dear Copperfield, said Traddles, sticking his hair upright with both hands and then putting his hands on my knees, I am married. Married. I cried joyfully. Lord bless me. Yes, said Traddles. By the Reverend Horace to Sophie down in Devonshire. Why, my dear boy, she's behind the window curtain. Look here. To my amazement, the dearest girl in the world came at that same instant, laughing and blushing from her place of concealment. And a more cheerful, amiable, honest, happy, bright looking bride, I believe, as I could not help saying on the spot the world never saw. I kissed her as an old acquaintance should, and Wished them joy with all my might of heart. Dear me, said Traddles, what a delightful reunion this is. You are so extremely brown, my dear Copperfield. God bless my soul, how happy I am. And so am I, said I, and I am sure I am, said the blushing and laughing Sophie. We are all as happy as possible, said Traddles. Even the girls are happy. Dear me. I declare I forgot them. Forgot? Said I. The girls, said Traddles. Sophie's sisters. They are staying with us. They have come to have a peep at London. The fact is, when was it you that tumbled upstairs, Copperfield? It was, said I, laughing. Well, then, when you tumbled upstairs, said Traddles, I was romping with the girls. In point of fact, we were playing at Puss in the Corner. But as that wouldn't do in Westminster hall, and as it wouldn't look quite professional if they were seen by a client, they decamped and they are now listening. I have no doubt, said Traddles, glancing at the door of another room. I am sorry, said I, laughing afresh, to have occasioned such a dispersion. Upon my word, rejoined Traddles, greatly delighted. If you had seen them running away and running back again after you had knocked to pick up the combs they had dropped out of their hair and going on in the maddest manner, you wouldn't have said so, my love. Will you fetch the girls? Sophy tripped away, and we heard her received in the adjoining room with a peal of laughter. Really musical, isn't it, my dear Copperfield? Said Traddles. It's very agreeable to hear. It quite lights up these old rooms to an unfortunate bachelor of a fellow who has lived alone all his life. You know, it's positively delicious. It's charming. Poor things. They have had a great loss in Sophie, who I do assure you, Copperfield is and ever was the dearest girl. And it gratifies me beyond expression to find them in such good spirits. The society of girls is a very delightful thing, Copperfield. It's not professional, but it's very delightful. Observing that he slightly faltered and comprehending that in the goodness of his heart he was fearful of giving me some pain by what he had said, I expressed my concurrence with a heartiness that evidently relieved and pleased him greatly. Meaning Traddles was worried it would upset David to hear about his happy marriage since he's a widower. But he tells him, and he's happy for him. But then, said Traddles, our domestic arrangements are, to say the truth, Quite unprofessional altogether, my dear Copperfield, even Sophie's being here is unprofessional. And we have no other place of abode. We have put to sea in a cockboat, but we are quite prepared to rough it. And Sophie's an extraordinary manager. You'll be surprised how those girls are stowed away, I am sure. I hardly know how it's done. Are many of the young ladies with you? I inquired. The eldest, the beauty is here, said Traddles in a low, confidential voice. Caroline and Sara's here, the one I mentioned to you as having something the matter with her spine, you know immensely better. And the two youngest that Sophie educated are with us, and Louisa's here. Indeed, Cried I. Yes, said Traddles. Now the whole set, I mean the chambers is only three rooms, but Sophie arranges for the girls in the most wonderful way, and they sleep as comfortably as possible. Three in that room, Said Traddles, pointing. Two in that. I could not help glancing round in search of the accommodation remaining for Mr. And Mrs. Traddles. Traddles understood me well, said Traddles. We are prepared to rough it, as I said just now, and we did improvise a bed last week upon the floor here. But there's a little room in the roofa very nice room when you're up there, which Sophy papered herself to surprise me. And that's our room at present. It's a capital little gipsy sort of place. There's quite a view from it. And you are happily married at last, my dear Traddles, said I. How rejoiced I am. Thank you, my dear Copperfield, said Traddles as we shook hands once more. Yes, I am as happy as it's possible to be. There's your old friend, you see, said Traddles, nodding triumphantly at the flower pot and stand. And there's the table with the marble top. All the other furniture is plain and serviceable, you perceive. And as to plate, Lord bless you, we haven't so much as a teaspoon. All to be earned, said I cheerfully. Exactly so, replied Traddles. All to be earned. Of course we have something in the shape of teaspoons because we stir our tea. But they're Britannia metal. The silver will be the brighter when it comes, said I. The very thing we say. Cried Traddles. You see, my dear Copperfield, falling again into the low, confidential tone, after I had delivered my argument in Dough Dem Jipes vs. Wigsell, which did me great service with the profession, I went down into Devonshire and had some serious conversation in private with the Reverend Horace. I dwelt upon the fact that Sophie, who I do assure you Copperfield, is the dearest girl. I am certain she is, said I. She is indeed, rejoined Traddles, but I am afraid I am wandering from the subject. Did I mention the Reverend Horace? You said that you dwelt upon the fact trueupon the fact that Sophy and I had been engaged for a long period and that Sophie, with the permission of her parents, was more than content to take mein short, said Traddles, with his old frank smile on our present Britannia metal footing. Very well. I then proposed to the Reverend Horace, who is a most excellent clergyman, Copperfield, and ought to be a bishop, or at least ought to have enough to live upon without pinching himself, that if I could turn the Corner, say of £250 in one year, and could see my way pretty clearly to that, or something better next year, and could plainly furnish a little place like this besides, then, and in that case Sophy and I should be united, I took the liberty of representing that we had been patient for a good many years, and that the circumstance of Sophy's being extraordinarily useful at home ought not to operate with her affectionate parents against her establishment in life. Don't you see? Certainly it ought not, said I. I am glad you think so, Copperfield rejoined Traddles, because without any imputation on the Reverend Horace, I do think parents and brothers and so forth, are sometimes rather selfish in such cases. Well, I also pointed out that my most earnest desire was to be useful to the family, and that if I got on in the world, and anything should happen to him. I refer to the Reverend Horace. I understand, said I, or to Mrs. Cruller. It would be the utmost gratification of my wishes to be apparent to the girls. He replied in a most admirable manner, exceedingly flattering to my feelings, and undertook to obtain the consent of Mrs. Crewer to this arrangement. They had a dreadful time of it with her. It mounted from her legs into her chest, and then into her head. What mounted? I asked. Her grief, replied Traddles with a serious look. Her feelings generally, as I mentioned on a former occasion. She is a very superior woman, but has lost the use of her limbs. Whatever occurs to harass her usually settles in her legs, but on this occasion it mounted to the chest and then to the head, and in short pervaded the whole system in a most alarming manner. However, they brought her through it by unremitting and affectionate attention. And we were married yesterday. Six weeks. You have no idea what a monster I felt, Copperfield, when I saw the whole family crying and fainting away in every direction. Mrs. Crawler couldn't see me before we left. Couldn't forgive me then for depriving her of her child. But she is a good creature and has done so since. I had a delightful letter from her only this morning. And in short, my dear friend said I, you feel as blessed as you deserve to feel. Oh, that's your partiality, laughed Traddles. But indeed I am in a most enviable state. I work hard and read law insatiably. I get up at 5 every morning and don't mind it at all. I hide the girls in the daytime and make merry with them in the evening. And I assure you I am quite sorry that they are going home on Tuesday, which is the day before the first day of Michelangelo term. But here, said Traddles, breaking off in his confidence and speaking aloud are the girls. Mr. Copperfield, Ms. Cruller, Miss Sara, Miss Louisa, Margaret and Lucy. They were a perfect nest of roses. They looked so wholesome and fresh. They were all pretty and Miss Caroline was very handsome. But there was a loving, cheerful fireside quality in Sophie's bright look. Looks which was better than that and which assured me that my friend had chosen well. We all sat round the fire while the sharp boy who I now divined had lost his breath in putting the papers out, cleared them away again and produced the tea things. After that he retired for the night, shutting the outer door upon us with a bang. Mrs. Traddles, with perfect pleasure and composure beaming from her household eyes, having made the tea, then quietly made the toast. Toast. And she sat in a corner by the fire. She had seen Agnes, she told me, while she was toasting, Tom had taken her down into Kent for a wedding trip. And there she had seen my aunt too. And both my aunt and Agnes were well, and they had all talked of nothing but me. Tom had never had me out of his thoughts. She really believed all the time I had been away. Tom was the authority for everything. Tom was evidently the idol of her life. Wife never to be shaken on his pedestal by any commotion, always to be believed in and done homage to with the whole faith of her heart. Come what might. The deference which both she and Traddles showed towards the beauty pleased me very much. I don't know that I thought it very reasonable, but I thought it very delightful and essentially a part of their character. If Traddles ever for an instant missed the teaspoons that were still to be won, I have no doubt it was when he handed the beauty her tea. If his sweet tempered wife could have got up any self assertion against anyone, I am satisfied it could only have been because she was the beauty's sister. A few slight indications of a rather petted and capricious manner which I observed in the beauty were manifestly considered by Traddles and his wife as her birthright and natural endowment. If she had been born a queen bee and they laboring bees, they could not have been more satisfied of that. That but their self forgetfulness charmed me. Their pride in these girls and their submission of themselves to all their whims was the pleasantest little testimony to their own worth. I could have desired to see if Traddles were addressed as a darling once in the course of that evening and besought to bring something here or carry something there, or take something up or put something down or find something or fetch something. He was so addressed by one or other of his sisters in law at least 12 times in an hour. Neither could they do anything without Sophie. Somebody's hair fell down and nobody but Sophie could put it up. Somebody forgot how a particular tune went and nobody but Sophie could hum that tune. Right. Somebody wanted to recall the name of a place in Devonshire and only Sophie knew it. Something was wanted to be written home and Sophie alone could be trusted to write before breakfast in the morning. Somebody broke down in a piece of knitting and no one but Sophie was able to put the defaulter in the right direction. They were entire mistresses of the place and Sophie and Traddles waited on them. How many children Sophie could have taken care of in her time I can't imagine. But she seemed to be famous for knowing every sort of song that ever was addressed to a child in the English tongue. And she sang dozens to order with the clearest little voice in the world. World. One after another, every sister issuing directions for a different tune and the beauty generally striking in last so that I was quite fascinated. The best of all was that in the midst of their exactions all the sisters had a great tenderness and respect both for Sophie and Traddles. I am sure. When I took my leave and Traddles was coming out to walk with me to the coffee house, I thought I had never seen an obstinate head of hair or any other head of hair rolling about in such a shower of kisses. Altogether it was a scene I could not Help dwelling on with pleasure for a long time after I got back and had wished Traddles good night. If I had beheld a thousand roses blowing in a top set of chambers in that withered Gray's Inn, they could not have brightened it half so much. The idea of those Devonshire girls among the dry law stationers and the attorneys on offices, and of the tea and toast and children's songs in that grim atmosphere of pounce and parchment, red tape, dusty wafers, ink jars, brief and draught paper, law reports, writs, declarations and bills of costs Seemed almost as pleasantly fanciful as if I had dreamed that the Sultan's famous family had been admitted on the roll of attorneys and had brought the talking bird, the singing tree and the golden water into Gray's Inn Hall. Somehow I found that I had taken leave of Traddles for the night and come back to the coffee house With a great change in my despondency about him. I began to think he would get on in spite of all the many orders of chief waiters in England. Drawing a chair before one of the coffee room fires to think about him at my leisure, I gradually fell from the consideration of his happiness to tracing prospects in the live coals and to thinking as they broke and changed, changed of the principal vicissitudes and separations that had marked my life. I had not seen a coal fire since I had left England three years ago, Though many a wood fire had I watched as it crumbled into hoary ashes and mingled with the feathery heap upon the hearth, which not inaptly figured to me in my despondency my own dead hopes. I could think of the past now gravely, but not bitterly. And could contemplate the future in a brave spirit. Home in its best sense was for me no more. She, in whom I might have inspired a dearer love, I had taught to be my sister. She would marry and would have new claimants on her tenderness, and in doing it would never know the love for her that had grown up in my heart. It was right that I should pay the forfeit of my headlong passion. What I reaped I had sown, I was thinking. And had I truly disciplined my heart to this? And could I resolutely bear it and calmly hold the place in her home which she had calmly held in mine When I found my eyes resting on a countenance that might have arisen out of the fire in its association with my early remembrances. Little Mr. Chillip, the doctor, to whose good offices I was Indebted in the very first chapter of this history, sat reading a new newspaper in the shadow of an opposite corner. Yes. Remember, Mr. Chillip is the doctor who delivered David and who was kind to him during the time when he was living with the Murdstones. He was tolerably stricken in years by this time, but being a mild, meek, calm little man, and warned so easily that I thought he looked at that moment just as he might have looked when he sat in our parlour waiting for me to be born. Mr. Chillip had left Blunderstone six or seven years ago, and I had never seen him since. He sat placidly, perusing the newspaper with his little head on one side and a glass of warm Sherry Negus at his elbow. He was so extremely conciliatory in his manner that he seemed to apologize to the very newspaper for taking the liberty of reading it. I walked up to where he was sitting and said, how do you do, Mr. Chillip? He was greatly fluttered by this unexpected address from a stranger and replied in his slow way, I thank you, sir. You are very good. Thank you, sir. I hope you are well. You don't remember me, said I. Well, sir, returned Mr. Chillip, smiling very meekly and shaking his head as he surveyed me, I have a kind of an impression that something in your countenance is familiar to me, sir. But I couldn't lay my hand upon your name. Really? And yet you knew it long before I knew it myself. I returned. Did I Indeed, sir? Said Mr. Chillip. Is it possible that I had the honour, sir, of officiating when. Yes, said I. Dear me, cried Mr. Chillip. But no doubt you are a good deal changed since then, sir. Probably, said I. Well, sir, observed Mr. Chillip, I hope you'll excuse me if I am compelled to ask the favor of your name. On my telling him my name, he was really moved. He quite shook hands with me, which was a violent proceeding for him, his usual course being to slide a tepid little fish slice an inch or two in advance of his hip and evince the greatest discomposure when anybody grappled with it. Even now he put his hand in his coat pocket as soon as he could disengage it, and seemed relieved when he had got it safe back. Dear me, sir, said Mr. Chillip, surveying me with his head on one side. And it's Mr. Copperfield, is it? Well, sir, I think I should have known you if I had taken the liberty of looking more closely at you. There's a strong resemblance between you and your poor father, sir, I never had the happiness of seeing my father, I observed. Very true, sir, said Mr. Chillip in a soothing tone, and very much to be deplored. It was on all accounts. We are not ignorant, sir, said Mr. Chillip, slowly, shaking his head again. Down in our part of the country of your fame. There must be great excitement here, sir, said Mr. Chillip, tapping himself on the forehead with his forefinger. You must find it a trying occupation, sir. What is your part of the country now? I asked, seating myself near him. I am established within a few miles of Bury St. Edmunds, sir, said Mr. Chillip. Mrs. Chillip coming into a little property in that neighbourhood under her father's will. I bought a practice down there in which you will be glad to hear I am doing well. My daughter is growing quite a tall lass now, sir, said Mr. Chillip, giving his little head another little shake. Her mother let down two tucks in her frocks only last week, meaning that the daughter grew tall enough that her dresses had to be lengthened. Such is time. You see, sir, as the little man put his now empty glass to his lips when he made this reflection, I proposed to him to have it refilled, and I would keep him company with another. Well, sir, he returned in his slow way, it's more than I am accustomed to, but I can't deny myself the pleasure of your conversation. It seems but yesterday that I had the honour of attending you in the measles. You came through them charmingly, sir. I acknowledged this compliment and ordered the negus, which was soon produced quite an uncommon dissipation, said Mr. Chillip, stirring it. But I can't resist so extraordinary an occasion. Have you no family, sir? I shook my head. I was aware that you sustained a bereavement, sir, some time ago, said Mr. Chillip. I heard it from your father in law's sister, meaning Ms. Murdstone. Very decided character there, sir. Why yes, said I, decided enough. Where did you see her, Mr. Chillip? Are you not aware, sir, returned Mr. Chillip with his placidest smile, that your father in law is again a neighbour of mine? No, said I, he is Indeed, sir, said Mr. Chillip. Married a young lady of that part with a very good little property, poor thing. And this action of the brain now, sir, meaning David's writing, don't you find it fatigue you? Said Mr. Chillip, looking at me like an admiring robin. I waved that question and returned to the murdstones. I was aware of his being married again. Do you attend the family? I asked. Not regularly I have been called in, he replied. Strong phrenological developments of the organ of firmness in Mr. Murdstone and his sister, sir, I replied with such an expressive look that Mr. Chillip was emboldened by that and the negus together to give his head several short shakes and thoughtfully exclaim, ah, dear me, we remember old times. Mr. Copperfield and the brother and sister are pursuing their old course. Are they? Said I. Well, sir, replied Mr. Chillip, a medical man, being so much in families, ought to have neither eyes nor ears for anything but his profession. Still, I must say they are very severe, sir, both as to this life and the next. Next? The next will be regulated without much reference to them, I dare say. I returned. What are they doing? As to this, Mr. Chillip shook his head, stirred his negus and sipped it. She was a charming woman, sir, he observed in a plaintive manner, the present Mrs. Murdstone. A charming woman indeed, sir, said Mr. Chillip, as amiable, I am sure, as it was possible to be. Mrs. Chillip's opinion is that her spirit has been entirely broken since her marriage, and that she is all but melancholy mad. And the ladies, observed Mr. Chillip timorously, are great observers, sir. I suppose she was to be subdued and broken to their detestable mould. Heaven help her, said I. And she has been well, sir. There were violent quarrels at first, I assure you, said Mr. Chillip, but she is quite a shadow now. Would it be considered forward if I say to you, sir, in confidence, that since the sister came to help, the brother and sister between them have nearly reduced her to a state of imbecility? I told him I could easily believe it. I have no hesitation in saying, said Mr. Chillip, fortifying himself with another sip of negus. Between you and me, sir, that her mother died of it, or that tyranny, gloom and worry have made Mrs. Murdstone nearly imbecile? She was a lively young woman, sir, before marriage, and their gloom and austerity destroyed her. They go about with her now, more like her keepers than her husband and sister in law. That was Mrs. Chillip's remark to me only last week, and I assure you, sir, the ladies are great observers. Mrs. Chillip herself is a great observer. Does he gloomily profess to be, I am ashamed to use the word in such association, religious still? I inquired. You anticipate, sir, said Mr. Chillip, his eyelids getting quite red with the unwonted stimulus in which he was indulging one of Mrs. Chillip's most impressive remarks, Mrs. Chillip. He proceeded in the calmest and slowest manner. Quite electrified me by pointing out that miss, Mr. Birdstone sets up an image of himself and calls it the divine nature. You might have knocked me down on the flat of my back, sir, with the feather of a pen, I assure you. When Mrs. Chillip said so. The ladies are great observers, sir. Intuitively, said I, to his extreme delight, I am very happy to receive such support. In my opinion, sir, he rejoined, it is not often that I venture to give a non medical opinion. I assure you, Mr. Murdstone delivers public addresses sometimes. And it is said, in short, sir, it is said by Mrs. Chillip that the darker tyrant he has lately been, the more ferocious is his doctrine. I believe Mrs. Chillip to be perfectly right, said I. Mrs. Chillip goes so far as to say pursued the meekest of little men, much encouraged that what such people miscall their religion is a vent for their bad humors and arrogance. And do you know, I must say, sir, he continued mildly laying his head on one side, that I don't find authority for Mr. And Mrs. This Murdstone in the New Testament. I never found it either, said I. In the meantime, sir, said Mr. Chillip, they are much disliked. And as they are very free in consigning everybody who dislikes them to perdition, we really have a good deal of perdition going on in our neighborhood. However, as Mrs. Chillip says, sir, they undergo a continual punishment, for they are turned inward to feed upon their own hearts, and their own hearts are very bad feeding. Now, sir, about that brain of yours, if you'll excuse my returning to it, don't you expose it to a good deal of excitement. Sir, I found it not difficult, in the excitement of Mr. Chillip's own brain under his potations of negus, to divert his attention from this topic to his own affairs, on which, for the next half hour he was quite loquacious, giving me to understand, among other pieces of information, that he was then at the Gray's Inn Coffee House to lay his professional evidence before a commission of lunacy touching the state of mind of a patient who had become deranged from excessive drinking. And I assure you, sir, he said, I am extremely nervous. On such occasions I could not support being what is called bullied, sir. It would quite unman me. Do you know, it was some time before I recovered the conduct of that alarming lady. On the night of your birth, Mr. Copperfield, I told him that I was going down to my aunt the dragon of that night early in the morning, and that she was one of the most tender hearted and excellent of women, as he would know full well if he knew her better. The mere notion of the possibility of his ever seeing her again appeared to terrify him. Him, he replied with a small pale smile, is she so? Indeed, sir, really? And almost immediately called for a candle and went to bed as if he were not quite safe anywhere else. He did not actually stagger under the negus, but I should think his placid little pulse must have made two or three more beats in a minute than it had done since the great night of my aunt's disappointment when she struck at him with her bonnet, it thoroughly tired, I went to bed too. At midnight passed the next day on the Dover coach burst safe and sound into my aunt's old parlour, where she was at tea. She wore spectacles now, and was received by her and Mr. Dick and dear old Peggotty, who acted as housekeeper with open arms and tears of joy. My aunt was mightily amused when we began to talk composedly by my account of my meeting with Mr. Chillip Philip, and of his holding her in such dread remembrance, and both she and Peggotty had a great deal to say about my poor mother's second husband and that murdering woman of a sister on whom I think no pain or penalty would have induced my aunt to bestow any Christian or proper name or any other designation. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website, faithkmoore.com, click on Contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the Show Notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the Show Notes. You can learn more about me, check out our Merch store, or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. It's produced, recorded, and marketed by me, so I need your help. Spread the word about the show by posting about it on social media or texting a link to your friends. Subscribe, tap those five stars and leave a positive review wherever you're listening. If you are able to support the show financially, there's a link in the Show Notes to make a donation I would really, really appreciate it. Alright, everyone, story time is over. To be continue.