There was another good-night, and another, and half a dozen
more after that, and still Mr. Winkle had fast hold of his friend's
hand, and was looking into his face with the same strange expression.
'Is anything the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick at last, when his
arm was quite sore with shaking.
'Nothing,' said Mr. Winkle.
'Well then, good-night,' said Mr. Pickwick, attempting to
disengage his hand.
'My friend, my benefactor, my honoured companion,' murmured
Mr. Winkle, catching at his wrist. 'Do not judge me
harshly; do not, when you hear that, driven to extremity by
hopeless obstacles, I--'
'Now then,' said Mr. Tupman, reappearing at the door. 'Are
you coming, or are we to be locked in?'
'Yes, yes, I am ready,' replied Mr. Winkle. And with a violent
effort he tore himself away.
As Mr. Pickwick was gazing down the passage after them in
silent astonishment, Sam Weller appeared at the stair-head, and
whispered for one moment in Mr. Winkle's ear.
'Oh, certainly, depend upon me,' said that gentleman aloud.
'Thank'ee, sir. You won't forget, sir?' said Sam.
'Of course not,' replied Mr. Winkle.
'Wish you luck, Sir,' said Sam, touching his hat.
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