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PinkMonkey.com-Nicholas Nickelby by Charles Dickens




250

bosom, with attitudes expressive of distraction, which Miss
Petowker herself might have copied.

At length, the anxious mother permitted herself to be soothed
into a more tranquil state, and the little Kenwigses, being also
composed, were distributed among the company, to prevent the
possibility of Mrs Kenwigs being again overcome by the blaze of
their combined beauty. This done, the ladies and gentlemen
united in prophesying that they would live for many, many years,
and that there was no occasion at all for Mrs Kenwigs to distress
herself; which, in good truth, there did not appear to be; the
loveliness of the children by no means justifying her
apprehensions.

‘This day eight year,’ said Mr Kenwigs after a pause. ‘Dear
me--ah!’

This reflection was echoed by all present, who said ‘Ah!’ first,
and ‘dear me,’ afterwards.

‘I was younger then,’ tittered Mrs Kenwigs.
‘No,’ said the collector.

‘Certainly not,’ added everybody.
‘I remember my niece,’ said Mr Lillyvick, surveying his
audience with a grave air; ‘I remember her, on that very
afternoon, when she first acknowledged to her mother a partiality
for Kenwigs. “Mother,” she says, “I love him.”’

‘“Adore him,” I said, uncle,’ interposed Mrs Kenwigs.
‘“Love him,” I think, my dear,’ said the collector, firmly.
‘Perhaps you are right, uncle,’ replied Mrs Kenwigs,
submissively. ‘I thought it was “adore.”’

‘“Love,” my dear,’ retorted Mr Lillyvick. ‘“Mother,” she says, “I
love him!” “What do I hear?” cries her mother; and instantly falls


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