“Go and wait outside, Mike,” said the clerk.

I began to say that I hoped I was not interrupting, when the clerk shoved this gentleman out with as little ceremony as I ever saw used, and tossing his fur cap out after him, left me alone.

Mr. Jaggers's room was lighted by a skylight only, and was a most dismal place; the skylight, eccentrically pitched like a broken head, and the distorted adjoining houses looking as if they had twisted themselves to peep down at me through it.

There were not so many papers about, as I should have expected to see; and there were some odd objects about, that I should not have expected to see, — such as an old rusty pistol, a sword in a scabbard, several strange-looking boxes and packages, and two dreadful