“No starving now, Trotwood,” said Mr. Dick, shaking hands with me in a corner. “I’ll provide for her, Sir!” and he flourished his ten fingers in the air, as if they were ten banks.
I hardly know which was the better pleased, Traddles or I. “It really,” said Traddles, suddenly, taking a letter out of his pocket, and giving it to me, “put Mr. Micawber quite out of my head!”
The letter ( Mr. Micawber never missed any possible opportunity of writing a letter) was addressed to me, “By the kindness of T. Traddles, Esquire, of the Inner Temple.” It ran thus:—
“My Dear Copperfield:— “You may possibly not be unprepared to receive the intimation that something has turned up. I may have mentioned to you on a former occasion that I was in expectation of such an event. “I am about to establish myself in one of the provincial towns of our favoured island (where the