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Jo’s Will

           Snagsbyisbehindhiscounterinhisgreycoatandsleeves,inspectinganindentureofseveralskinswhichhasjustcomeinfromtheengrosser’s,animmensedesertoflaw-handandparchment,withhereandtherearesting-placeofafewlargeletterstobreaktheawfulmonotonyandsavethetravellerfromdespair.MrSnagsbyputsupatoneoftheseinkywellsandgreetsthestrangerwithhiscoughofgeneralpreparationforbusiness."Youdon’trememberme,Mr.Snagsby?"Thestationer’sheartbeginstothumpheavily,forhisoldapprehensionshaveneverabated.Itisasmuchashecandotoanswer,"No,sir,Ican’tsayIdo.IshouldhaveconsiderednottoputtoofineapointuponitthatIneversawyoubefore,sir.""Twicebefore,"saysAllanWoodcourt."Onceatapoorbedside,andonce""It’scomeatlast!"thinkstheafflictedstationer,asrecollectionbreaksuponhim."It’sgottoaheadnowandisgoingtoburst!"Buthehassufficientpresenceofmindtoconducthisvisitorintothelittlecounting-houseandtoshutthedoor."Areyouamarriedman,sir?""No,Iamnot.""Wouldyoumaketheattempt,thoughsingle,"saysMr.Snagsbyinamelancholywhisper,"tospeakaslowasyoucan?Formylittlewomanisa-listeningsomewheres,orI’llforfeitthebusinessandfivehundredpound!"IndeepdejectionMr.Snagsbysitsdownonhisstool,withhisbackagainsthisdesk,protesting,"Ineverhadasecretofmyown,sir.Ican’tchargemymemorywitheverhavingonceattemptedtodeceivemylittlewomanonmyownaccountsinceshenamedtheday.Iwouldn’thavedoneit,sir.

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Roboto Lora
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