Wemmick was up early in the morning, and I am afraid I heard him

cleaning my boots. After that, he fell to gardening, and I saw him from

my gothic window pretending to employ the Aged, and nodding at him in

a most devoted manner. Our breakfast was as good as the supper, and at

half-past eight precisely we started for Little Britain. By degrees,

Wemmick got dryer and harder as we went along, and his mouth tightened

into a post-office again. At last, when we got to his place of business

and he pulled out his key from his coat-collar, he looked as unconscious

of his Walworth property as if the Castle and the drawbridge and the

arbor and the lake and the fountain and the Aged, had all been blown

into space together by the last discharge of the Stinger.




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