admiringly surveys Mr. Venus from head to foot.
“As a mortal equally with myself, whose hand I take in mine for the first time this day, having unaccountably overlooked that act so full of boundless confidence binding a fellow-creetur to a fellow creetur,” says Wegg, holding Mr. Venus’s palm out, flat and ready for smiting, and now smiting it; “as such—and no other—for I scorn all lowlier ties betwixt myself and the man walking with his face erect that alone I call my Twin—regarded and regarding in this trustful bond—what do you think he might have hid?”
“It is but a supposition, Mr. Wegg.”
“As a being with his hand upon his heart,” cries Wegg; and the apostrophe is not the less impressive for the being’s hand being actually upon his rum and water; “put your supposition into language, and bring it out, Mr. Venus!”