‘We have all got on in life since then, Mr. Micawber,’ said I.
‘Mr. Copperfield,’ returned Mr. Micawber, bitterly, ‘when I was an inmate of that retreat I could look my fellow-man in the face, and punch his head if he offended me. My fellow-man and myself are no longer on those glorious terms!’
Turning from the building in a downcast manner, Mr. Micawber accepted my proffered arm on one side, and the proffered arm of Traddles on the other, and walked away between us.
‘There are some landmarks,’ observed Mr. Micawber, looking fondly back over his shoulder, ‘on the road to the tomb, which, but for the impiety of the aspiration, a man would wish never to have passed. Such is the Bench in my chequered career.’
‘Oh, you are in low spirits, Mr. Micawber,’ said Traddles.
‘I am, sir,’ interpo
