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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

"Nicholas Nickleby"


'Then I mean, if you please, that we'll have as many forms as we can,
returned the father. 'My daughter, sir, requires no kindness from you
or anybody else. Have the goodness to confine your dealings strictly to
trade and business, and not to travel beyond it. Every petty tradesman
is to begin to pity her now, is he? Upon my soul! Very pretty. Madeline,
my dear, give him a receipt; and mind you always do so.'
While she was feigning to write it, and Nicholas was ruminating upon the
extraordinary but by no means uncommon character thus presented to his
observation, the invalid, who appeared at times to suffer great bodily
pain, sank back in his chair and moaned out a feeble complaint that the
girl had been gone an hour, and that everybody conspired to goad him.
'When,' said Nicholas, as he took the piece of paper, 'when shall I call
again?'
This was addressed to the daughter, but the father answered immediately.
'When you're requested to call, sir, and not before. Don't worry and
persecute. Madeline, my dear, when is this person to call again?'
'Oh, not for a long time, not for three or four weeks; it is not
necessary, indeed; I can do without,' said the young lady, with great
eagerness.


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