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But one night, when I had been married some months, Mr. Dick put his head into the parlour, where I was writing alone (Dora having gone out with my aunt to take tea with the two little birds), and said, with a significant cough: 'You couldn't speak to me without inconveniencing yourself, Trotwood, I am afraid?' 'Certainly, Mr. Dick,' said I; 'come in!' 'Trotwood,' said Mr. Dick, laying his finger on the side of his nose, after he had shaken hands with me. 'Before I sit down, I wish to make an observation. You know your aunt?' 'A little,' I replied. 'She is the most wonderful woman in the world, sir!' After the delivery of this communication, which he shot out of himself as if he were loaded with it, Mr. Dick sat down with greater gravity than usual, and looked at me. 'Now, boy,' said Mr. Dick, 'I am going to put a question to you.' 'As many as you please,' said I. 'What do you consider me, sir?' asked Mr. Dick, folding his arms. 'A dear old friend,' said I. 'Thank you, Trotwood,' returned Mr. Dick, laughing, and reaching across in high glee to shake hands with me. 'But I mean, boy,' resuming his gravity, 'what do you consider me in this respect?' touching his forehead. I was puzzled how to answer, but he helped me with a word. 'Weak?' said Mr. Dick. 'Well,' I replied, dubiously. 'Rather so.' 'Exactly!' cried Mr. Dick, who seemed quite enchanted by my reply. 'That is, Trotwood, when they took some of the trouble out of you-know-who's head, and put it you know where, there was a -' Mr. Dick made his two hands revolve very fast about each other a great number of times, and then brought them into collision, and rolled |