forever grateful unto them which so did do.

Now, Mum, with respections to this boy!” And then he would rumple my hair the wrong way, — which from my earliest remembrance, as already hinted, I have in my soul denied the right of any fellow-creature to do, — and would hold me before him by the sleeve, — a spectacle of imbecility only to be equalled by himself.

Then, he and my sister would pair off in such nonsensical speculations about Miss Havisham, and about what she would do with me and for me, that I used to want — quite painfully — to burst into spiteful tears, fly at Pumblechook, and pummel him all over.

In these dialogues, my sister spoke to me as if she were morally wrenching one of my teeth out at every