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'Exactly,' bawled the dwarf nodding his head; 'that's very well
observed. Then will you consider about it, neighbour?'
'I will, certainly,' replied the old man. 'We shall not stop here.'
'So I supposed,' said the dwarf. 'I have sold the things. They have not
yielded quite as much as they might have done, but pretty well -
pretty well. To-day's Tuesday. When shall they be moved? There's no
hurry - shall we say this afternoon?'
'Say Friday morning,' returned the old man.
'
Very good,' said the dwarf. 'So be it - with the understanding that I
can't go beyond that day, neighbour, on any account.'
'Good,' returned the old man. 'I shall remember it.'
Mr Quilp seemed rather puzzled by the strange, even spiritless way in
which all this was said; but as the old man nodded his head and
repeated 'on Friday morning. I shall remember it,' he had no excuse
for dwelling on the subject any further, and so took a friendly leave
with many expressions of good-will and many compliments to his
friend on his looking so remarkably well; and went below stairs to
report progress to Mr Brass.
All that day, and all the next, the old man remained in this state. He
wandered up and down the house and into and out of the various
rooms, as if with some vague intent of bidding them adieu, but he
referred neither by direct allusions nor in any other manner to the
interview of the morning or the necessity of finding some other shelter.
An indistinct idea he had, that the child was desolate and in want of
help; for he often drew her to his bosom and bade her be of good
cheer, saying that they would not desert each other; but he seemed
unable to contemplate their real position more distinctly, and was still
the listless, passionless creature that suffering of mind and body had
left him.
We call this a state of childishness, but it is the same poor hollow
mockery of it, that death is of sleep. Where, in the dull eyes of doating
men, are the laughing light and life of childhood, the gaiety that has
known no check, the frankness that has felt no chill, the hope that
has never withered, the joys that fade in blossoming? Where, in the
sharp lineaments of rigid and unsightly death, is the calm beauty of
slumber, telling of rest for the waking hours that are past, and gentle
hopes and loves for those which are to come? Lay death and sleep
down, side by side, and say who shall find the two akin. Send forth
the child and childish man together, and blush for the pride that
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