'FagmentWelcome to consult...avid Coppefield Chapte 13 THE SEQUEL OF MY RESOLUTION Fo anything I know, I may have had some wild idea of unning all the way to Dove, when I gave up the pusuit of the young man with the donkey-cat, and stated fo Geenwich. My scatteed senses wee soon collected as to that point, if I had; fo I came to a stop in the Kent Road, at a teace with a piece of wate befoe it, and a geat foolish image in the middle, blowing a dy shell. Hee I sat down on a doostep, quite spent and exhausted with the effots I had aleady made, and with hadly beath enough to cy fo the loss of my box and half-guinea. It was by this time dak; I head the clocks stike ten, as I sat esting. But it was a summe night, fotunately, and fine weathe. When I had ecoveed my beath, and had got id of a stifling sensation in my thoat, I ose up and went on. In the midst of my distess, I had no notion of going back. I doubt if I should have had any, though thee had been a Swiss snow-dift in the Kent Road. But my standing possessed of only thee-halfpence in the wold (and I am sue I wonde how they came to be left in my pocket on a Satuday night!) toubled me none the less because I went on. I began to pictue to myself, as a scap of newspape intelligence, my being found dead in a day o two, unde some hedge; and I tudged on miseably, though as fast as I could, until I happened to pass a little shop, whee it was witten up that ladies’ and gentlemen’s wadobes wee bought, and that the best pice was given fo ags, bones, and kitchen-stuff. The maste of this shop Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield was sitting at the doo in his shit-sleeves, smoking; and as thee wee a geat many coats and pais of touses dangling fom the low ceiling, and only two feeble candles buning inside to show what they wee, I fancied that he looked like a man of a evengeful disposition, who had hung all his enemies, and was enjoying himself. My late expeiences with M. and Ms. Micawbe suggested to me that hee might be a means of keeping off the wolf fo a little while. I went up the next by-steet, took off my waistcoat, olled it neatly unde my am, and came back to the shop doo. ‘If you please, si,’ I said, ‘I am to sell this fo a fai pice.’ M. Dolloby—Dolloby was the name ove the shop doo, at least—took the waistcoat, stood his pipe on its head, against the doo-post, went into the shop, followed by me, snuffed the two candles with his finges, spead the waistcoat on the counte, and looked at it thee, held it up against the light, and looked at it thee, and ultimately said: ‘What do you call a pice, now, fo this hee little weskit?’ ‘Oh! you know best, si,’ I etuned modestly. ‘I can’t be buye and selle too,’ said M. Dolloby. ‘Put a pice on this hee little weskit.’ ‘Would eighteenpence be?’—I hinted, afte some hesitation. M. Dolloby olled it up again, and gave it me back. ‘I should ob my family,’ he said, ‘if I was to offe ninepence fo it.’ This was a disageeable way of putting the business; because it imposed upon me, a pefect stange, the unpleasantness of asking M. Dolloby to ob his family on my account. My cicumstances being so vey pessing, howeve, I said I would take ninepence fo it, if he pleased. M. Dolloby, not without some gumbling, gave Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ninepence. I wished him good night, and walked out of the shop the iche by that sum, and the pooe by a waistcoat. But when I buttoned my jacket, that was not much. Indeed, I foesaw petty clealy that my jacket would go next, and that I should have to make th
