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the passion of the unknown gentleman quite so summarily or
lightly as Nicholas appeared to deem becoming.

ĎAs to its being preposterous, and doting, and ridiculous,í
thought Mrs Nickleby, communing with herself in her own room,
ĎI donít see that, at all. Itís hopeless on his part, certainly; but why
he should be an absurd old idiot, I confess I donít see. He is not to
be supposed to know itís hopeless. Poor fellow! He is to be pitied, I

Having made these reflections, Mrs Nickleby looked in her little
dressing-glass, and walking backward a few steps from it, tried to
remember who it was who used to say that when Nicholas was
one-and-twenty he would have more the appearance of her
brother than her son. Not being able to call the authority to mind,
she extinguished her candle, and drew up the window-blind to
admit the light of morning, which had, by this time, begun to

ĎItís a bad light to distinguish objects in,í murmured Mrs
Nickleby, peering into the garden, Ďand my eyes are not very
good--I was short-sighted from a child--but, upon my word, I
think thereís another large vegetable marrow sticking, at this
moment, on the broken glass bottles at the top of the wall!í

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