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the West end to fetch her daughter home; and no less
characteristically forgetting, that there were such things as wet
nights and bad weather to be encountered in almost every week of
the year.

‘I shall be sorry--truly sorry to leave you, my kind friend,’ said
Kate, on whom the good feeling of the poor miniature painter had
made a deep impression.

‘You shall not shake me off, for all that,’ replied Miss La Creevy,
with as much sprightliness as she could assume. ‘I shall see you
very often, and come and hear how you get on; and if, in all
London, or all the wide world besides, there is no other heart that
takes an interest in your welfare, there will be one little lonely
woman that prays for it night and day.’

With this, the poor soul, who had a heart big enough for Gog,
the guardian genius of London, and enough to spare for Magog to
boot, after making a great many extraordinary faces which would
have secured her an ample fortune, could she have transferred
them to ivory or canvas, sat down in a corner, and had what she
termed ‘a real good cry.’

But no crying, or talking, or hoping, or fearing, could keep off
the dreaded Saturday afternoon, or Newman Noggs either; who,
punctual to his time, limped up to the door, and breathed a whiff
of cordial gin through the keyhole, exactly as such of the church
clocks in the neighbourhood as agreed among themselves about
the time, struck five. Newman waited for the last stroke, and then

‘From Mr Ralph Nickleby,’ said Newman, announcing his
errand, when he got upstairs, with all possible brevity.

‘We shall be ready directly,’ said Kate. ‘We have not much to

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