“My dear Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber, behind his handkerchief, “this is an occupation, of all others, requiring an untroubled mind, and self-respect. I cannot perform it. It is out of the question.”
“ Mr. Micawber,” said I, “what is the matter? Pray speak out. You are among friends.”
“Among friends, sir!” repeated Mr. Micawber; and all he had reserved came breaking out of him. “Good heavens, it is principally because I am among friends that my state of mind is what it is. What is the matter, gentlemen? What is not the matter? Villainy is the matter; baseness is the matter; deception, fraud, conspiracy, are the matter; and the name of the whole atrocious mass is— Heep !”
My aunt clapped her hands, and we all started up as if we were possessed.
“The struggle is over!” said Mr. Micawber violently gesticulating with his pocket-handkerchief, and fairly striking out from time to time with both arms, as if he were swimming under superhuman difficulties. “I will lead this life no longer. I am a wretched being, cut off from everything that makes life tolerable. I have been under a Taboo in that infernal scoundrel’s service. Give me back my wife, give me back my family, substitute Micawber for the petty wretch who walks about in the boots at present on my feet, and call upon me to swallow a sword tomorrow, and I’ll do it. With an appetite!”
I never saw a man so hot in my life. I tried to calm him, that we might come to something rational; but he got hotter and hotter, and wouldn’t hear a word.
“I’ll put my hand in no man’s hand,” said Mr. Micawber, gasping, puffing, and sobbing, to that degree that he was like a man fighting with cold water, “until I have—blown to fragments—the—a—detestable—serpent—