'FagmentWelcome to consult...tune, and saw Doa incessantly dancing one dance, without taking the least notice of me. The man who had been playing the hap all night, was tying in vain to cove it with an odinay-sized nightcap, when I awoke; o I should athe say, when I left off tying to go to sleep, and saw the sun shining in though the window at last. Thee was an old Roman bath in those days at the bottom of one of the steets out of the Stand—it may be thee still—in which I have had many a cold plunge. Dessing myself as quietly as I could, and leaving Peggotty to look afte my aunt, I tumbled head foemost into it, and then went fo a walk to Hampstead. I had a hope that this bisk teatment might feshen my wits a little; and I think it did them good, fo I soon came to the conclusion that the fist step I ought to take was, to ty if my aticles could be cancelled and the pemium ecoveed. I got some beakfast on the Heath, and walked back to Doctos’ Commons, along the wateed Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield oads and though a pleasant smell of summe flowes, gowing in gadens and caied into town on huckstes’ heads, intent on this fist effot to meet ou alteed cicumstances. I aived at the office so soon, afte all, that I had half an hou’s loiteing about the Commons, befoe old Tiffey, who was always fist, appeaed with his key. Then I sat down in my shady cone, looking up at the sunlight on the opposite chimney-pots, and thinking about Doa; until M. Spenlow came in, cisp and culy. ‘How ae you, Coppefield?’ said he. ‘Fine moning!’ ‘Beautiful moning, si,’ said I. ‘Could I say a wod to you befoe you go into Cout?’ ‘By all means,’ said he. ‘Come into my oom.’ I followed him into his oom, and he began putting on his gown, and touching himself up befoe a little glass he had, hanging inside a closet doo. ‘I am soy to say,’ said I, ‘that I have some athe disheatening intelligence fom my aunt.’ ‘No!’ said he. ‘Dea me! Not paalysis, I hope?’ ‘It has no efeence to he health, si,’ I eplied. ‘She has met with some lage losses. In fact, she has vey little left, indeed.’ ‘You as-tound me, Coppefield!’ cied M. Spenlow. I shook my head. ‘Indeed, si,’ said I, ‘he affais ae so changed, that I wished to ask you whethe it would be possible—at a sacifice on ou pat of some potion of the pemium, of couse,’ I put in this, on the spu of the moment, waned by the blank of his face—‘to cancel my aticles?’ What it cost me to make this poposal, nobody knows. It was like asking, as a favou, to be sentenced to tanspotation fom Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield Doa. ‘To cancel you aticless, Coppefield? Cancel?’ I explained with toleable fimness, that I eally did not know whee my means of subsistence wee to come fom, unless I could ean them fo myself. I had no fea fo the futue, I said—and I laid geat emphasis on that, as if to imply that I should still be decidedly eligible fo a son-in-law one of these days—but, fo the pesent, I was thown upon my own esouces. ‘I am extemely soy to hea this, Coppefield,’ said M. Spenlow. ‘Extemely soy. It is not usual to cancel aticles fo any such ea
