Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day PeopleDickens, Charles
General
Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day People
Dickens, Charles
London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century; London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
‘The lady’s lip trembled as she took the printed paper. She cast her
eye over it, and old Fixem began to explain the form, but saw she
wasn’t reading it, plain enough, poor thing. “Oh, my God!” says she,
suddenly a-bursting out crying, letting the warrant fall, and hiding
her face in her hands. “Oh, my God! what will become of us!” The noise
she made, brought in a young lady of about nineteen or twenty, who, I
suppose, had been a-listening at the door, and who had got a little boy
in her arms: she sat him down in the lady’s lap, without speaking, and
she hugged the poor little fellow to her bosom, and cried over him,
till even old Fixem put on his blue spectacles to hide the two tears,
that was a-trickling down, one on each side of his dirty face. “Now,
dear ma,” says the young lady, “you know how much you have borne. For
all our sakes—for pa’s sake,” says she, “don’t give way to this!”—“No,
no, I won’t!” says the lady, gathering herself up, hastily, and drying
her eyes; “I am very foolish, but I’m better now—much better.” And then
she roused herself up, went with us into every room while we took the
inventory, opened all the drawers of her own accord, sorted the
children’s little clothes to make the work easier; and, except doing
everything in a strange sort of hurry, seemed as calm and composed as
if nothing had happened. When we came down-stairs again, she hesitated
a minute or two, and at last says, “Gentlemen,” says she, “I am afraid
I have done wrong, and perhaps it may bring you into trouble. I
secreted just now,” she says, “the only trinket I have left in the
world—here it is.” So she lays down on the table a little miniature
mounted in gold. “It’s a miniature,” she says, “of my poor dear father!
I little thought once, that I should ever thank God for depriving me of
the original, but I do, and have done for years back, most fervently.
Take it away, sir,” she says, “it’s a face that never turned from me in
sickness and distress, and I can hardly bear to turn from it now, when,
God knows, I suffer both in no ordinary degree.” I couldn’t say
nothing, but I raised my head from the inventory which I was filling
up, and looked at Fixem; the old fellow nodded to me significantly, so
I ran my pen through the “_Mini_” I had just written, and left the
miniature on the table.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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