Chapter 20 - Page 2

themselves, like certain uncomfortable kinds of flowers,
and of being now mere weeds. They had all an air, too, of lounging
out a limited round, day after day, which strongly reminded him of
the Marshalsea. But, taking no further note of them than was
sufficient to give birth to the reflection, he sought out a certain
street and number which he kept in his mind.

'So Pancks said,' he murmured to himself, as he stopped before a
dull house answering to the address. 'I suppose his information to
be correct and his discovery, among Mr Casby's loose papers,
indisputable; but, without it, I should hardly have supposed this
to be a likely place.'

A dead sort of house, with a dead wall over the way and a dead
gateway at the side, where a pendant bell-handle produced two dead
tinkles, and a knocker produced a dead, flat, surface-tapping, that
seemed not to have depth enough in it to penetrate even the cracked
door. However, the door jarred open on a dead sort of spring; and
he closed it behind him as he entered a dull yard, soon brought to
a close by another dead wall, where an attempt had been made to
train some creeping shrubs, which were dead; and to make a little
fountain in a grotto, which was dry; and to decorate that with a
little statue, which was gone.

The entry to the house was on the left, and it was garnished as the
outer gateway was, with two printed bills in French and English,
announcing Furnished Apartments to let, with immediate possession.
A strong cheerful peasant woman, all stocking, petticoat, white
cap, and ear-ring, stood here in a dark doorway, and said with a
pleasant show of teeth, 'Ice-say! Seer! Who?'

Clennam, replying in French, said the English lady; he wished to
see the English lady. 'Enter then and ascend, if you please,'
returned the peasant woman, in French likewise. He did both, and
followed her up a dark bare staircase to a back room on the first-
floor. Hence, there was a gloomy view of the yard that was dull,
and of the shrubs that were dead, and of the fountain that was dry,
and of the pedestal of the statue that was gone.

'Monsieur Blandois,' said Clennam.

'With pleasure, Monsieur.'

Thereupon the woman withdrew and left him to look at the room. It
was the pattern of room always to be found in such a house. Cool,
dull, and dark. Waxed floor very slippery. A room not large
enough to skate in; nor adapted to the easy pursuit of any other
occupation. Red and white curtained windows, little straw mat,
little round table with a tumultuous assemblage of legs underneath,
clumsy rush-bottomed chairs, two great red velvet arm-chairs
affording plenty of space to be uncomfortable in, bureau, chimney-
glass in several pieces pretending to