“Thank you, sir! I am anxious about mother. I am afraid she ain’t safe.”
Somebody incautiously asked, what from? But there was a scandalised whisper of “Hush!”
“Immortally safe, sir,” returned Uriah, writhing in the direction of the voice. “I should wish mother to be got into my state. I never should have been got into my present state if I hadn’t come here. I wish mother had come here. It would be better for everybody, if they got took up, and was brought here.”
This sentiment gave unbounded satisfaction—greater satisfaction, I think, than anything that had passed yet.
“Before I come here,” said Uriah, stealing a look at us, as if he would have blighted the outer world to which we belonged, if he could, “I was given to follies; but now I am sensible of my follies. There’s a deal of sin outside. There’s a deal of sin in mother. There’s nothing but sin everywhere—except here.”
“You are quite changed?” said Mr. Creakle.
“Oh dear, yes, sir!” cried this hopeful penitent.
“You wouldn’t relapse, if you were going out?” asked somebody else.
“Oh de-ar no, sir!”
“Well!” said Mr. Creakle, “this is very gratifying. You have addressed Mr. Copperfield, Twenty Seven. Do you wish to say anything further to him?”