Peggotty comes up to make herself useful, and falls to work immediately. Her department appears to be, to clean everything over and over again.

She rubs everything that can be rubbed, until it shines, like her own honest forehead, with perpetual friction. And now it is, that I begin to see her solitary brother passing through the dark streets at night, and looking, as he goes, among the wandering faces. I never speak to him at such an hour. I know too well, as his grave figure passes onward, what he seeks, and what he dreads.

Why does Traddles look so important when he calls upon me this afternoon in the Commons — where I still occasionally attend, for form’s sake, when I have time?

The realization of my boyish day-dreams is at hand. I am going to take out the licence.