'Did you see the Marchioness o' Granby, Sammy?' inquired Mr. Weller, with a sigh. 'Yes, I did,' replied Sam. 'How wos the dear creetur a-lookin'?' 'Wery queer,' said Sam. 'I think she's a-injurin' herself gradivally vith too much o' that 'ere pine-apple rum, and other strong medicines of the same natur.' 'You don't mean that, Sammy?' said the senior earnestly. 'I do, indeed,' replied the junior. Mr. Weller seized his son's hand, clasped it, and let it fall. There was an expression on his countenance in doing so—not of dismay or apprehension, but partaking more of the sweet and gentle character
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