Pickwick's face, and then,
seating himself on the high stool, and drawing the lamp closer to
him, broke the wax, unfolded the epistle, and lifting it to the
light, prepared to read.
Just at this moment, Mr. Bob Sawyer, whose wit had lain
dormant for some minutes, placed his hands on his knees, and
made a face after the portraits of the late Mr. Grimaldi, as clown.
It so happened that Mr. Winkle, senior, instead of being deeply
engaged in reading the letter, as Mr. Bob Sawyer thought,
chanced to be looking over the top of it at no less a person than
Mr. Bob Sawyer himself; rightly conjecturing that the face aforesaid
was made in ridicule and derision of his own person, he
fixed his eyes on Bob with such expressive sternness, that the late
Mr. Grimaldi's lineaments gradually resolved themselves into a
very fine expression of humility and confusion.
'Did you speak, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, senior, after an
awful silence.
'No, sir,' replied Bob, With no remains of the clown about him,
save and except the extreme redness of his cheeks.
'You are sure you did not, sir?' said Mr. Winkle, senior.
'Oh dear, yes, sir, quite,' replied Bob.
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