The Novels: With Dickens and Thackeray in LondonC. Scribner's sons, 1915 |
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ain't asked Bazzard beadle Becky began better Bob Sawyer Bobby called chair CHAPTER Charles Dickens Cheshire Cheese church Club Colonel Covent Garden Covent Garden Market crowd dear Dickens's dinner Doctor door doubt easel Evins eyes face famous fellow Fleet Street floor Fountain front Furnival's Inn Garrick Club gentleman George and Vulture glass Grewgious hand head hour Jermyn Street Jingle knew Lady Lamb Court landlady light link-boys Little Dorrit lived London Bridge look Lord Lord Steyne loved morning never Newcome night o'clock once Pendennis Pickwick Raddle replied round Sam Weller seen side sketch Slammer Southwark Square stairs Staple Inn steps Steyne stood stool story Tavern taxi tell Thack Thackeray Thackeray's thing Thomas Light to-day told took verger voice walk wall Wardle Warrington window woman wondering
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Сторінка 299 - I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and promised to come to him directly.
Сторінка 140 - IN these times of ours, though concerning the exact year there is no need to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputable appearance, with two figures in it, floated on the Thames, between Southwark Bridge, which is of iron, and London Bridge, which is of stone, as an autumn evening was closing in.
Сторінка 209 - I have been young, and now am old ; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.
Сторінка 262 - His wit is bright, his humour attractive, but both bear the same relation to his serious genius that the mere lambent sheet-lightning playing under the edge of the summer cloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb.
Сторінка 299 - ... which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit ; told the landlady I should soon return, and having gone to a bookseller, sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him so ill.
Сторінка 129 - ... supposed to be incarcerated behind an iron-plated door, closing up a second prison, consisting of a strong cell or two, and a blind alley some yard and a half wide, which formed the mysterious termination of the very limited skittle-ground in which the Marshalsea debtors bowled down their troubles.
Сторінка 261 - Throw them down," he said, and she dropped them. He tore the diamond ornament out of her breast and flung it at Lord Steyne. It cut him on his bald forehead. Steyne wore the scar to his dying day. "Come upstairs," Rawdon said to his wife. "Don't kill me, Rawdon," she said. He laughed savagely. — "I want to see if that man lies about the money as he has about me. Has he given you any?" "No," said Rebecca, "that is " "Give me your keys," Rawdon answered, and they went out together.
Сторінка 284 - I'm not sorry that my son should see, for once in his life, to what shame and degradation and dishonour, drunkenness and whiskey may bring a man. Never mind the change, sir ! — Curse the change ! " says the Colonel, facing the amazed waiter. " Keep it till you see me in this place again ; which will be never — by George, never...
Сторінка 258 - He was in the ball dress in which he had been captured the night before. He went silently up the stairs, leaning against the banisters at the stairhead. Nobody was stirring in the house besides: all the servants had been sent away. Rawdon heard laughter within — laughter and singing. Becky was singing a snatch of the song of the night before; a hoarse voice shouted "Brava! Brava!
Сторінка 321 - Sir Roger de Coverley walking in the Temple Garden, and discoursing with Mr. Spectator about the beauties in hoops and patches who are sauntering over the grass, is just as lively a figure to me as old Samuel Johnson rolling through the fog with the Scotch gentleman at his heels on their way to Dr. Goldsmith's chambers in Brick Court ; or Harry Fielding, with inked ruffles and a wet towel round his head, dashing off articles at midnight for the Covent Garden Journal, while the printer's boy is asleep...