“I have no doubt, Twenty Eight,” returned the questioner, “that the gentleman you refer to feels very strongly—as we all must—what you have so properly said. We will not detain you.”
“I thank you, sir,” said Mr. Littimer. “Gentlemen, I wish you a good day, and hoping you and your families will also see your wickedness, and amend!”
With this, Number Twenty Eight retired, after a glance between him and Uriah; as if they were not altogether unknown to each other, through some medium of communication; and a murmur went round the group, as his door shut upon him, that he was a most respectable man, and a beautiful case.
“Now, Twenty Seven,” said Mr. Creakle, entering on a clear stage with his man, “is there anything that anyone can do for you? If so, mention it.”
“I would ’umbly ask, sir,” returned Uriah, with a jerk of his malevolent head, “for leave to write again to mother.”
“It shall certainly be granted,” said Mr. Creakle.
“Thank you, sir! I am anxious about mother. I am afraid she ain’t safe.”
Somebody incautiously asked, what from? But there was a scandalized whisper of “Hush!”
“Immortally safe, sir,” returned Uriah, writhing in the direction of the voice. “I should wish mother to be got into my state. I never should have been got into my present state if I hadn’t come here. I wish mother had come here. It would be better for everybody, if they got took up, and was brought here.”