XX {A Flight}
XXII {A Gritty State Of Things} {Comes On}
"Lord bless my soul,cried Mr.
Grewgious, putting the lamp upon it,
and taking his seat opposite Rosa;
"what a new sensation for a poor old
Angular bachelor, to be sure!"
Rosa's expressive little eyebrows
asked him what he meant?
"The sensation of having a sweet
young presence in the place, that
whitewashes it, paints it, papers it,
decorates it with gilding, and makes it
Glorious!" said Mr. Grewgious. "Ah
me! Ah me!"
Mr. Grewgious experiences a new sansation
The woman kneels upon the floor,
with her arms crossed on the
coverlet of the bed, close by him, and
her chin upon them. In this
crouching attitude she watches him.
The pipe is falling from his mouth.
She puts it back, and laying her hand
upon his chest,
moves him slightly from side to side.
Upon that he speaks, as if she had
spoken.
Mr. Tartar's boat was perfect. Mr. Tartar
and Lobley (Mr. Tartar's man) pulled a pair
of oars. Mr. Tartar had a yacht, it seemed,
lying somewhere down by Greenhithe; and
Mr. Tartar's man had charge of this yacht,
and was detached upon his present service.
He was a jolly-favoured man, with tawny
hair and whiskers, and a big red face. He
was the dead image of the sun in old
woodcuts, his hair and whiskers answering
for rays all around him. Resplendent in the
bow of the boat, he was a shining sight, with
a man-of-war's man's shirt on or off,
according to opinion and his arms and
breast tattooed all sorts of patterns.
Up the river
XXIII {The Dawn Again}
Sleeping it off
