As I had grown accustomed to my expectations, I had insensibly begun to notice their effect upon myself and those around me. Their influence on my own character, I disguised from my recognition as much as possible, but I knew very well that it was not all good. I lived in a state of chronic […]
In her furred travelling-dress, Estella seemed more delicately beautiful than she had ever seemed yet, even in my eyes. Her manner was more winning than she had cared to let it be to me before, and I thought I saw Miss Havisham’s influence in the change.We stood in the Inn Yard while she pointed out
One day when I was busy with my books and Mr Pocket, I received a note by the post, the mere outside of which threw me into a great flutter; for, though I had never seen the handwriting in which it was addressed, I divined whose hand it was. It had no set beginning, as
On our arrival in Denmark, we found the king and queen of that country elevated in two arm-chairs on a kitchen-table, holding a Court. The whole of the Danish nobility were in attendance; consisting of a noble boy in the wash-leather boots of a gigantic ancestor, a venerable Peer with a dirty face who seemed
After well considering the matter while I was dressing at the Blue Boar in the morning, I resolved to tell my guardian that I doubted Orlick’s being the right sort of man to fill a post of trust at Miss Havisham’s. ‘Why, of course he is not the right sort of man, Pip,’ said my
Betimes in the morning I was up and out. It was too early yet to go to Miss Havisham’s, so I loitered into the country on Miss Havisham’s side of town – which was not Joe’s side; I could go there tomorrow – thinking about my patroness, and painting brilliant pictures of her plans for
It was clear that I must repair to our town next day, and in the first flow of my repentance it was equally clear that I must stay at Joe’s. But, when I had secured my box-place by tomorrow’s coach and had been down to Mr Pocket’s and back, I was not by any means
My Dear Mr Pip,I write this by request of Mr Gargery, for to let you know that he is going to London in company of Mr Wopsle and would be glad if agreeable to be allowed to see you. He would call at Barnard’s Hotel Tuesday morning 9 o’clock, when if not agreeable please leave
It fell out as Wemmick had told me it would, that I had an early opportunity of comparing my guardian’s establishment with that of his cashier and clerk. My guardian was in his rooms, washing his hands with his scented soap, when I went into the office from Walworth; and he called me to him,
Bentley Drummle, who was so sulky a fellow that he even took up a book as if its writer had done him an injury, did not take up an acquaintance in a more agreeable spirit. Heavy in figure, movement, and comprehension – in the sluggish complexion of his face, and in the large awkward tongue
After two or three days, when I had established myself in my room, and had gone backwards and forwards to London several times, and had ordered all I wanted of my tradesmen, Mr Pocket and I had a long talk together. He knew more of my intended career than I knew myself, for he referred
Mr Pocket said he was glad to see me, and he hoped I was not sorry to see him. ‘For, I really am not,’ he added, with his son’s smile, ‘an alarming personage.’ He was a young-looking man, in spite of his perplexities and his very gray hair, and his manner seemed quite natural. I
The pale young gentleman and I stood contemplating one another in Barnard’s Inn, until we both burst out laughing. ‘The idea of its being you!’ said he. ‘The idea of its being you!’ said I. And then we contemplated one another afresh, and laughed again. ‘Well!’ said the pale young gentleman, reaching out his hand
Casting my eyes on Mr Wemmick as we went along, to see what he was like in the light of day, I found him to be a dry man, rather short in stature, with a square wooden face, whose expression seemed to have been imperfectly chipped out with a dull-edged chisel. There were some marks
The journey from our town to the metropolis was a journey of about five hours. It was a little past mid-day when the four-horse stage-coach by which I was a passenger got into the ravel of traffic frayed out about the Cross Keys, Wood Street, Cheapside, London.1We Britons had at that time particularly settled that