"You just come away," said Mr. Weller. "Battledore and Shuttlecock's a wery good game, when you an't the shuttlecock and two lawyers the battledores"—Chap. xx.
"Heyling!" said the old man wildly. "My boy, Heyling, my dear boy, look, look!" gasping for breath, the miserable father pointed to the spot where the young man was struggling for life—Chap. xxi.
Standing before the dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their "back hair"—Chap. xxii.
Mr. Pickwick no sooner put on his spectacles, than he at once recognised in the future Mrs. Magnus the lady into whose room he had so unwarrantably intruded on the previous night—Chap. xxiv.