Arthur Clennam with the card in his hand, betook himself to the address set forth on it, and speedily arrived there. It was a very small establishment, wherein a decent woman sat behind the counter working at her needle—Book 1, chap. xxii.
"What nimble fingers you have," said Flora, "but are you sure you are well?" . . . "Oh yes, indeed!" Flora put her feet upon the fender and settled herself for a thorough good romantic disclosure—Book 1, chap. xxiv.
Mounting to his attic, attended by Mrs. Plornish as interpreter, he found Mr. Baptist with no furniture but his bed on the ground, a table and a chair, carving with the aid of a few simple tools, in the blithest way possible. "Now, old chap," said Mr. Pancks, "pay up!"—Book 1, chap. xxxiii.
Mr. Doyce had been to Twickenham to pass the day. Clennam had excused himself, Mr. Doyce was just come home. He put in his head at the door of Clennam's sitting-room to say good night. "Come in, come in!" said Clennam—Book 1, chap. xxvi.