‘It’s such a loving art,’ clarisonic online said Mr. Peggotty, smoothing her rich
hair with his great hard hand, ‘that it can’t abear the sorrer of this.
It’s nat’ral in young folk, Mas’r Davy, when they’re new to these
here trials, and timid, like my little bird,—it’s nat’ral.’
She clung the closer to him, but neither lifted up her face, nor
spoke a word.
‘It’s getting late, my dear,’ said Mr. Peggotty, ‘and here’s Ham
come fur to take you home. Theer! Go along with t’other loving
art! What’ Em’ly? Eh, my pretty?’
The sound of her voice had not reached me, but he bent his
head as if he listened to her, and then said:
‘Let you stay with your uncle? Why, you doen’t mean to ask me
that! Stay with your uncle, Moppet? When your husband that’ll be
so soon, is here fur to take you home? Now a person wouldn’t
think it, fur to see this little thing alongside a rough-weather chap
like me,’ said Mr. Peggotty, looking round at both of us, with
infinite pride; ‘but the sea ain’t more salt in it than she has
fondness in her for her uncle—a foolish little Em’ly!’