‘What would he be?’ said Peggotty.
‘Angry,’ I answered, with an involuntary imitation of his dark frown.
‘If he was only sorry, he wouldn’t look at me as he does. I am only sorry, and it makes me feel kinder.’
Peggotty said nothing for a little while; and I warmed my hands, as silent as she.
‘Davy,’ she said at length.
‘Yes, Peggotty?’ ‘I have tried, my dear, all ways I could think of — all the ways there are, and all the ways there ain’t, in short — to get a suitable service here, in Blunderstone; but there’s no such a thing, my love.’
‘And what do you mean to do, Peggotty,’