On the broad landing between Miss Havisham's own room and that other

room in which the long table was laid out, I saw a garden-chair,--a

light chair on wheels, that you pushed from behind. It had been placed

there since my last visit, and I entered, that same day, on a regular

occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in this chair (when she was tired of

walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her own room, and across

the landing, and round the other room. Over and over and over again,

we would make these journeys, and sometimes they would last as long as

three hours at a stretch. I insensibly fall into a general mention of

these journeys as numerous, because it was at once settled that I should

return every alternate day at noon for these purposes, and because I am

now going to sum up a period of at least eight or ten months.

As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more

to me, and asked me such questions as what had I learnt and what was

I going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I

believed; and I enlarged upon my knowing nothing and wanting to know

everything, in the hope that she might offer some help towards that

desirable end. But she did not; on the contrary, she seemed to prefer my

being ignorant. Neither did she ever give me any money,--or anything

but my daily dinner,--nor ever stipulate that I should be paid for my

services.

Estella was always about, and always let me in and out, but never told

me I might kiss her again. Sometimes, she would coldly tolerate me;

sometimes, she would condescend to me; sometimes, she would be quite

familiar with me; sometimes, she would tell me energetically that she

hated me. Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, or when we were

alone, "Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?" And when I said yes

(for indeed she did), would seem to enjoy it greedily. Also, when we

played at cards Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish of

Estella's moods, whatever they were. And sometimes, when her moods were

so many and so contradictory of one another that I was puzzled what

to say or do, Miss Havisham would embrace her with lavish fondness,

murmuring something in her ear that sounded like "Break their hearts my

pride and hope, break their hearts and have no mercy!"

There was a song Joe used to hum fragments of at the forge, of which the

burden was Old Clem. This was not a very ceremonious way of rendering

homage to a patron saint, but I believe Old Clem stood in that relation

towards smiths. It was a song that imitated the measure of beating upon

iron, and was a mere lyrical excuse for the introduction of Old Clem's

respected name. Thus, you were to hammer boys round--Old Clem! With a

thump and a sound--Old Clem! Beat it out, beat it out--Old Clem! With a

clink for the stout--Old Clem! Blow the fire, blow the fire--Old

Clem! Roaring dryer, soaring higher--Old Clem! One day soon after the

appearance of the chair, Miss Havisham suddenly saying to me, with the

impatient movement of her fingers, "There, there, there! Sing!" I was

surprised into crooning this ditty as I pushed her over the floor. It

happened so to catch her fancy that she took it up in a low brooding

voice as if she were singing in her sleep. After that, it became

customary with us to have it as we moved about, and Estella would often

join in; though the whole strain was so subdued, even when there were

three of us, that it made less noise in the grim old house than the

lightest breath of wind.




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