Mr. Pickwick journeys to Ipswich and meets with a romantic Adventure with a middle-aged Lady in yell

           ‘That‘ereyourgovernor’sluggage,Sammy?’inquiredMr.Wellerofhisaffectionateson,asheenteredtheyardoftheBullInn,Whitechapel,withatravelling-bagandasmallportmanteau.

           ‘Youmightha’madeaworserguessthanthat,oldfeller,’repliedMr.Wellertheyounger,settingdownhisburdenintheyard,andsittinghimselfdownuponitafterwards.‘Thegovernorhisself’llbedownherepresently.’

           ‘He’sa-cabbin’it,Isuppose?’saidthefather.

           ‘Yes,he’sahavin’twomileo’dangerateight-pence,’respondedtheson.‘How’smother-in-lawthismornin’?’

           ‘Queer,Sammy,queer,’repliedtheelderMr.Weller,withimpressivegravity.‘She’sbeengettin’raytherintheMethodisticalorderlately,Sammy;andsheisuncommonpious,tobesure.She’stoogoodacreeturforme,Sammy.IfeelIdon’tdeserveher.’

           ‘Ah,’saidMr.Samuel.‘that’sweryself-denyin’o’you.’

           ‘Wery,’repliedhisparent,withasigh.‘She’sgotholdo’someinwentionforgrown-uppeoplebeingbornagain,Sammythenewbirth,Ithinktheycallsit.Ishouldwerymuchliketoseethatsysteminhaction,Sammy.Ishouldwerymuchliketoseeyourmother-in-lawbornagain.Wouldn’tIputherouttonurse!’

           ‘Whatdoyouthinkthemwomendoest’otherday,’continuedMr.

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