She Was Truest To Them In The

Mr. Pickwick Took A Seat And The Paper, But Instead Of Reading The Latter, Peeped Over The Top Of It, And Took A Survey Of The Man Of Business, Who Was An Elderly, Pimply-faced, Vegetable-diet Sort Of Man, In A Black Coat, Dark Mixture Trousers, And Small Black Gaiters; A Kind Of Being Who Seemed To Be An Essential Part Of The Desk At Which He Was Writing, And To Have As Much Thought Or Sentiment.

If Her Eyes Had No Expression, It Was Probably Because They Had Nothing To Express. If She Had Few Wrinkles, It Was Because Her Mind Had Never Traced Its Name Or Any Other Inscription On Her Face.

Nobody Near Me Here, But Rats, And They Are Fine Stealthy Secret Fellows.

All Partings Foreshadow The Great Final One.

The One Great Principle Of The English Law Is, To Make Business For Itself. There Is No Other Principle Distinctly, Certainly, And Consistently Maintained Through All Its Narrow Turnings.