Hard Times

t had audaciously anticipated him, and presumed to be wiser than he. Inappeasably indignant with her for her triumphant discovery of Mrs. Pegler, he turn

woman of family, and wanted to stick to me, but I wouldn't have it, and got rid of her'-would be to get the utmost possi

imself down in the dining-room of former days, where his portrait was. Mrs. Sparsit sat

ith a veil of quiet melancholy and contrition. In virtue thereof, it had become he

'am?' said Mr. Bounderby,

d Mrs. Sparsit, 'do

rsit conceived, that it was too developed a nose for the purpose. After which offensiv

out of her stirrup, and s

ed Mr. Bounderby. 'Wh

rs. Sparsit, 'have you b

, ma

ed woman, 'whether I am the unfortunate

nected, but she can't be permitted to bother and badger a man in my position, and I am not going to put up with

, her Coriolanian eyebrows; gathered up h

parent to me that I am in your way at pr

o open the

ir; I can do

portunity of saying a word to you, before you go. Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am, I rather think you are cramped here, do you know? It a

the darkest scorn, and said with

the late affairs have happened, ma'am,' said B

ybody knows how unerring Mr. Bounderby's judgment is. Everybody has had proofs of it. It must be the theme

ry red and uncomf

d bring out a lady of your powers. Such an establishment as your relation, Lady Scadger

eturned Mrs. Sparsit; 'but now you menti

going, ma'am; but perhaps in the meanwhile, it will be more agreeable to a lady of your powers of mind, to eat her meals by herself, and n

g the power of committing itself and disgusting others,-it would testify, that a long period has elapsed since I first habitually addressed it a

eyed him fixedly from head to foot, swept disdainfully past him, and ascended the staircase. Mr. Bounderby closed the

man, so devoted to his master's great merits, who had won young Tom's place, and had almost captured young Tom himself, in the times when by various rascals he was spirited away? Did he see any faint reflection of his own image making a vain-glorious will, whereby five-and-twenty Humbugs, past five-and-fifty years of age, each taking upon himself the name, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, should for ever dine in Bounderby Hall, for ever lodge in Bounderby buildings, for ever attend a Bounderby chapel, for eve

servient to Faith, Hope, and Charity; and no longer trying to grind that Heavenly trio in his dusty little mills? Did he catch sight of himself, therefore much despised by his late political associates? Did he see them, in the era of its being quite settled that the national dustm

er's name, exonerating the late Stephen Blackpool, weaver, from misplaced suspicion, and publishing the guilt of his own son, with such extenuation as his years and temptation (he could not bring himself to add, his education)

in black, but sweet-tempered and serene, and even cheerful; who, of all the people in the place, alone appeared to have compassion on a degraded, drunken wretch of her own sex, who was sometimes seen in the town secretly b

aply bartered for a sight of her dear face? At length this brother coming nearer home, with hope of seeing her, and being delayed by illness; and then a letter, in a strange han

he mind no less than a childhood of the body, as knowing it to be even a more beautiful thing, and a possession, any

inery and reality with those imaginative graces and delights, without which the heart of infancy will wither up, the sturdiest physical manhood will be morally stark death, and the plainest national prosperity figures can show, will be the Writing on t

on, similar things shall be or not. Let them be! We shall sit with lighte

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