Veels Vithin Veels, A Prison In A

He Lived In Chambers That Had Once Belonged To His Deceased Partner. They Were A Gloomy Suite Of Rooms, In A Lowering Pile Of Building Up A Yard, Where It Had So Little Business To Be, That One Could Scarcely Help Fancying It Must Have Run There When It Was A Young House, Playing At Hide-and-seek With Other Houses, And Forgotten The Way Out Again.

His Wardrobe Was Extensive-very Extensive-not Strictly Classical Perhaps, Not Quite New, Nor Did It Contain Any One Garment Made Precisely After The Fashion Of Any Age Or Time, But Everything Was More Or Less Spangled; And What Can Be Prettier Than Spangles!

The Bright, Frosty Day Declined As They Walked And Spoke Together. The Sun Dipped In The River Far Behind Them, And The Old City Lay Red Before Them, As Their Walk Drew To A Close. The Moaning Water Cast Its Seaweed Duskily At Their Feet, When They Turned To Leave Its Margin; And The Rooks Hovered Above Them With Hoarse Cries, Darker Splashes In The Darkening Air.

Home Is A Name, A Word, It Is A Strong One; Stronger Than Magician Ever Spoke, Or Spirit Ever Answered To, In The Strongest Conjuration.

"my Good Fellow," Retorted Mr. Boffin, "you Have My Word; And How You Can Have That, Without My Honour Too, I Don't Know. I've Sorted A Lot Of Dust In My Time, But I Never Knew The Two Things Go Into Separate Heaps."