The Pickwick Papers


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'Thank you,' said Mr Pickwick.  
'
I'm sorry to say that your landlord's wery bad to-night, Sir,' said  
Roker, setting down the glass, and inspecting the lining of his hat  
preparatory to putting it on again.  
'
'
What! The Chancery prisoner!' exclaimed Mr Pickwick.  
He won't be a Chancery prisoner wery long, Sir,' replied Roker,  
turning his hat round, so as to get the maker's name right side  
upwards, as he looked into it.  
'
'
You make my blood run cold,' said Mr Pickwick. 'What do you mean?'  
He's been consumptive for a long time past,' said Mr Roker, 'and he's  
taken wery bad in the breath to-night. The doctor said, six months  
ago, that nothing but change of air could save him.'  
'Great Heaven!' exclaimed Mr Pickwick; 'has this man been slowly  
murdered by the law for six months?'  
'I don't know about that,' replied Roker, weighing the hat by the brim  
in both hands. 'I suppose he'd have been took the same, wherever he  
was. He went into the infirmary, this morning; the doctor says his  
strength is to be kept up as much as possible; and the warden's sent  
him wine and broth and that, from his own house. It's not the  
warden's fault, you know, sir.'  
'Of course not,' replied Mr Pickwick hastily.  
'
I'm afraid, however,' said Roker, shaking his head, 'that it's all up  
with him. I offered Neddy two six-penn'orths to one upon it just now,  
but he wouldn't take it, and quite right. Thank'ee, Sir. Good-night,  
sir.'  
'Stay,' said Mr Pickwick earnestly. 'Where is this infirmary?'  
'
Just over where you slept, sir,' replied Roker. 'I'll show you, if you like  
to come.' Mr Pickwick snatched up his hat without speaking, and  
followed at once.  
The turnkey led the way in silence; and gently raising the latch of the  
room door, motioned Mr Pickwick to enter. It was a large, bare,  
desolate room, with a number of stump bedsteads made of iron, on  
one of which lay stretched the shadow of a man - wan, pale, and  
ghastly. His breathing was hard and thick, and he moaned painfully  
as it came and went. At the bedside sat a short old man in a cobbler's  


Page
614 615 616 617 618

Quick Jump
1 198 396 594 792