“What do you mean by that, Sam?” said Mr. Pickwick. He raised himself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say something more; but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet “Good night.”

“Good night, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside the door⁠—shook his head⁠—walked on⁠—stopped⁠—snuffed the candle⁠—shook his head again⁠—and finally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation.