He soon cast his eyes upon a chair, into which he skipped with uncommon agility, and, perching himself on the back with his feet upon the seat, was thus enabled to look on—Chap. ix.
"I'll beat you to pulp, you dogs"—Chap. vi.
"Is it good, Brass, is it nice, is it fragrant?"—Chap. xi.
Not to be behindhand in the bustle, Mr. Quilp went to work with surprising vigour—Chap. xiii.