After one of the nights that I have spoken of, I came down into a greenhouse before breakfast. Charlotte (the name of my false young friend) had gone down before me, and I heard her aunt speaking to her about me, as I entered. I stopped where I was, among the leaves and listened—Book 2, chap. xxi.
"If I draw you into this black closet and speak here." . . . "Why do you hide your face?" . . . "Because I am afraid of seeing something." . . . "You can't be afraid of seeing anything in this darkness, Affery"—Book 2, chap. xxiii.
"He couldn't have a better nurse to bring him round," Mr. Sparkler made bold to opine. . . . "For a wonder I can agree with you," returned his wife, languidly turning her eyelids a little in his direction, "and can adopt your words"—Book 2, chap. xxiv.
The day was sunny, and the Marshalsea, with the hot noon striking upon it was unwontedly quiet. Arthur Clennam dropped into a solitary arm-chair, itself as faded as any debtor in the gaol, and yielded himself to his thoughts—Book 2, chap. xxvii.