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    ‘Barkis, my dear!’ said Peggotty

    from the street, and found there Mrs Heep, who was the dead

    David Copperfield

    ‘I believe that is your writing, Mr Copperfield?’ said Mr

    Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

    ‘Dead, Mr Peggotty?’ I hinted, after a respectful pause

    permitted him to relax a little, however; and looking at me down in

    every week of my life to see you One day, every week of my life!’

    He laid his head upon her shoulder, as if he were oppressed

    even in that particular

    themselves—that they seemed to twinkle instead of his eyes,

    dare say; its decaying floors and staircase; the squeaking and

    not sorry to go away, for the gulf between us was there, and the

    wall on the occasion in question, for any light it threw upon her

    discuss it with her when they should think the time suitable I

    relations, begun as mere children But Agnes, now suddenly lifting

    acquainted with a person in the publishing way, who was getting

    out of bed, and the cold, cold smell of the dark nights when we

    like that, once a week, until further notice; and madly took so

    Steerforth’s, and looked over the corner of the garden wall His

    Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

    There was a passionate dejection in his manner that quite

    ‘Is she, though?’ said Mr Barkis

    ‘He is a deeply-injured man, Miss Dartle,’ I replied ‘You may

    remember one hot evening I went into the bar of a public-house,

    wishes I have a partner—Mr Jorkins’


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