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PinkMonkey.com-Nicholas Nickelby by Charles Dickens




1001

While Ralph bent upon his trembling friend a keen look, which
showed that he perfectly understood the reason of this great
consideration and regard, a footstep was heard upon the stairs,
and Bray himself came into the room on tiptoe, and holding up his
hand with a cautious gesture, as if there were some sick person
near, who must not be disturbed.

‘Hush!’ he said, in a low voice. ‘She was very ill last night. I
thought she would have broken her heart. She is dressed, and
crying bitterly in her own room; but she’s better, and quite quiet.
That’s everything!’

‘She is ready, is she?’ said Ralph.
‘Quite ready,’ returned the father.
‘And not likely to delay us by any young-lady weaknesses--
fainting, or so forth?’ said Ralph.

‘She may be safely trusted now,’ returned Bray. ‘I have been
talking to her this morning. Here! Come a little this way.’ He drew
Ralph Nickleby to the further end of the room, and pointed
towards Gride, who sat huddled together in a corner, fumbling
nervously with the buttons of his coat, and exhibiting a face, of
which every skulking and base expression was sharpened and
aggravated to the utmost by his anxiety and trepidation.

‘Look at that man,’ whispered Bray, emphatically. ‘This seems a
cruel thing, after all.’

‘What seems a cruel thing?’ inquired Ralph, with as much
stolidity of face, as if he really were in utter ignorance of the
other’s meaning.

‘This marriage,’ answered Bray. ‘Don’t ask me what. You know
as well as I do.’

Ralph shrugged his shoulders, in silent deprecation of Bray’s


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PinkMonkey.com-Nicholas Nickelby by Charles Dickens



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