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In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to Bath; and goes accordingly

           Mingledwiththesegroups,werethreeorfourmatch-makingmammas,appearingtobewhollyabsorbedbytheconversationinwhichtheyweretakingpart,butfailingnotfromtimetotimetocastananxioussidelongglanceupontheirdaughters,who,rememberingthematernalinjunctiontomakethebestuseoftheiryouth,hadalreadycommencedincipientflirtationsinthemislayingscarves,puttingongloves,settingdowncups,andsoforth;slightmattersapparently,butwhichmaybeturnedtosurprisinglygoodaccountbyexpertpractitioners.

           Loungingnearthedoors,andinremotecorners,werevariousknotsofsillyyoungmen,displayingvariousvarietiesofpuppyismandstupidity;amusingallsensiblepeoplenearthemwiththeirfollyandconceit;andhappilythinkingthemselvestheobjectsofgeneraladmirationawiseandmercifuldispensationwhichnogoodmanwillquarrelwith.

           Andlastly,seatedonsomeofthebackbenches,wheretheyhadalreadytakenuptheirpositionsfortheevening,werediversunmarriedladiespasttheirgrandclimacteric,who,notdancingbecausetherewerenopartnersforthem,andnotplayingcardslesttheyshouldbesetdownasirretrievablysingle,wereinthefavourablesituationofbeingabletoabuseeverybodywithoutreflectingonthemselves.Inshort,theycouldabuseeverybody,becauseeverybodywasthere.

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