Now, some demon of discord, flying over the Saracen’s Head at that moment, on casting down his eyes in mere idle curiosity, happened to behold Slurk established comfortably by the kitchen fire, and Pott slightly elevated with wine in another room; upon which the malicious demon, darting down into the last-mentioned apartment with inconceivable rapidity, passed at once into the head of Mr. Bob Sawyer, and prompted him for his (the demon’s) own evil purpose to speak as follows:⁠—

“I say, we’ve let the fire out. It’s uncommonly cold after the rain, isn’t it?”

“It really is,” replied Mr. Pickwick, shivering.

“It wouldn’t be a bad notion to have a cigar by the kitchen fire, would it?” said Bob Sawyer, still prompted by the demon aforesaid.