'
As he said this, Ralph clenched his left wrist tightly with his right
hand, and inclining his head a little on one side and dropping his chin
upon his breast, looked at him whom he addressed with a frowning, sullen
face. The very picture of a man whom nothing could move or soften.
'Yesterday was my first day in London,' said the old man, glancing at
his travel-stained dress and worn shoes.
'It would have been better for you, I think, if it had been your last
also,' replied Ralph.
'I have been seeking you these two days, where I thought you were most
likely to be found,' resumed the other more humbly, 'and I met you here
at last, when I had almost given up the hope of encountering you, Mr
Nickleby.'
He seemed to wait for some reply, but Ralph giving him none, he
continued:
'I am a most miserable and wretched outcast, nearly sixty years old, and
as destitute and helpless as a child of six.'
'I am sixty years old, too,' replied Ralph, 'and am neither destitute
nor helpless. Work. Don't make fine play-acting speeches about bread,
but earn it.'
'How?' cried the other. 'Where? Show me the means.
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