‘After all, my iron–headed friends,’ he leaned forward in his chair, and dropped his voice a little, ‘you don’t know half my ruin yet.’ Mr. Snitchey stopped and stared at him. Mr. Craggs also stared. ‘I

Not alone; but, with a man of about thirty, or that time of life, negligently dressed, and somewhat haggard in the face, but well–made, well–attired, and well–looking, who sat in the armchair of state,

Chapter2 SNITCHEY AND CRAGGS had a snug little office on the old Battle Ground, where they drove a snug little business, and fought a great many small pitched battles for a great many contending parties.

It is enough that at last she triumphantly produced the thimble on her finger, and rattled the nutmeg–grater: the literature of both those trinkets being obviously in course of wearing out and wasting

The only point he clearly comprehended, was, that the new element usually brought into these discussions by Snitchey and Craggs, never served to make them clearer, and always seemed to give the Doctor

But, you mustn’t laugh at life; you’ve got a game to play; a very serious game indeed! Everybody’s playing against you, you know, and you’re playing against them. Oh! it’s a very interesting thing. There

Much to the purpose, as my heart bears witness this morning; and as yours does too, I know, if you would let it speak. I leave your house to–day; I cease to be your ward to–day; we part with tender relations

The three natural kingdoms, indeed, had each a fanciful representative among this brotherhood of disputants; for Snitchey was like a magpie or raven (only not so sleek), and the Doctor had a streaked face

In general, a little cap placed somewhere on her head; though it was rarely to be met with in the place usually occupied in other subjects, by that article of dress; but, from head to foot she was scrupulously

The difference between them, in respect of age, could not exceed four years at most; but Grace, as often happens in such cases, when no mother watches over both (the Doctor’s wife was dead), seemed, in

The more actively, perhaps, because an elderly gentleman, who was no other than Doctor Jeddler himself—it was Doctor Jeddler’s house and orchard, you should know, and these were Doctor Jeddler’s daughters—came

The wounded trees had long ago made Christmas logs, and blazed and roared away. The deep green patches were no greener now than the memory of those who lay in dust below. The ploughshare still turned up

text-indent: 0} div.text p:first-child {text-indent: 0} line-height: 100%; font-style:normal; font-weight: normal; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:94px; margin-right:18px; margin-top:-14px; margin-bottom: