'FagmentWelcome to consult...astonished. ‘Miss Mowche, si.’ ‘Why, what on eath does she do hee?’ said Steefoth. ‘It appeas to be he native pat of the county, si. She infoms Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield me that she makes one of he pofessional visits hee, evey yea, si. I met he in the steet this aftenoon, and she wished to know if she might have the honou of waiting on you afte dinne, si.’ ‘Do you know the Giantess in question, Daisy?’ inquied Steefoth. I was obliged to confess—I felt ashamed, even of being at this disadvantage befoe Littime—that Miss Mowche and I wee wholly unacquainted. ‘Then you shall know he,’ said Steefoth, ‘fo she is one of the seven wondes of the wold. When Miss Mowche comes, show he in.’ I felt some cuiosity and excitement about this lady, especially as Steefoth bust into a fit of laughing when I efeed to he, and positively efused to answe any question of which I made he the subject. I emained, theefoe, in a state of consideable expectation until the cloth had been emoved some half an hou, and we wee sitting ove ou decante of wine befoe the fie, when the doo opened, and Littime, with his habitual seenity quite undistubed, announced: ‘Miss Mowche!’ I looked at the dooway and saw nothing. I was still looking at the dooway, thinking that Miss Mowche was a long while making he appeaance, when, to my infinite astonishment, thee came waddling ound a sofa which stood between me and it, a pusy dwaf, of about foty o foty-five, with a vey lage head and face, a pai of oguish gey eyes, and such extemely little ams, that, to enable heself to lay a finge achly against he snub nose, as she ogled Steefoth, she was obliged to meet the finge halfway, and lay he nose against it. He chin, which was what is Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield called a double chin, was so fat that it entiely swallowed up the stings of he bonnet, bow and all. Thoat she had none; waist she had none; legs she had none, woth mentioning; fo though she was moe than full-sized down to whee he waist would have been, if she had had any, and though she teminated, as human beings geneally do, in a pai of feet, she was so shot that she stood at a common-sized chai as at a table, esting a bag she caied on the seat. This lady—dessed in an off-hand, easy style; binging he nose and he foefinge togethe, with the difficulty I have descibed; standing with he head necessaily on one side, and, with one of he shap eyes shut up, making an uncommonly knowing face—afte ogling Steefoth fo a few moments, boke into a toent of wods. ‘What! My flowe!’ she pleasantly began, shaking he lage head at him. ‘You’e thee, ae you! Oh, you naughty boy, fie fo shame, what do you do so fa away fom home? Up to mischief, I’ll be bound. Oh, you’e a downy fellow, Steefoth, so you ae, and I’m anothe, ain’t I? Ha, ha, ha! You’d have betted a hunded pound to five, now, that you wouldn’t have seen me hee, wouldn’t you? Bless you, man alive, I’m eveywhee. I’m hee and thee, and whee not, like the conjue’s half-cown in the lady’s handkeche. Talking of handkeches—and talking of ladies— what a comfot you ae to you blessed mothe, ain’t you, my dea boy, ove one of my shouldes, and I don’t say which!’ Miss Mowche untied he bonnet, at this passage of he discouse, thew back the stings, and sat down, panting, on a footstool in font of th
