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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Charles Dickens

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“I perceive that, happily for me, the Reception of the day before yesterday was, as usual, a cold one,” observed the nephew.

 

He lies here, in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is pointed out.

 

The time was to come, when that wine too would be spilled on the street-stones, and when the stain of it would be red upon many there.

 

It may have been a signal for loosening the general tongue. It elicited an answering chorus of “Good day!”

 

“Your fishing-rod gets rayther rusty; don’t it, father?”

 

The flag had been struck, and the gun had been fired, at the right moment of time, and I felt as snugly cut off from the rest of Walworth as if the moat were thirty feet wide by as many deep. Nothing disturbed the tranquillity of the Castle, but the occasional tumbling open of John and Miss Skiffins: which little doors were a prey to some spasmodic infirmity that made me sympathetically uncomfortable until I got used to it. I inferred from the methodical nature of Miss Skiffins’s arrangements that she made tea there every Sunday night; and I rather suspected that a classic brooch she wore, representing the profile of an undesirable female with a very straight nose and a very new moon, was a piece of portable property that had been given her by Wemmick.

 

Chapter XVII. I now fell into a regular routine of apprenticeship life, which was varied beyond the limits of the village and the marshes, by no more remarkable circumstance than the arrival of my birthday and my paying another visit to Miss Havisham. I found Miss Sarah Pocket still on duty at the gate; I found Miss Havisham just as I had left her, and she spoke of Estella in the very same way, if not in the very same words. The interview lasted but a few minutes, and she gave me a guinea when I was going, and told me to come again on my next birthday. I may mention at once that this became an annual custom. I tried to decline taking the guinea on the first occasion, but with no better effect than causing her to ask me very angrily, if I expected more? Then, and after that, I took it.

 

“Yes, and many others,—all of them but you. Here is Mrs. Brandley. I’ll say no more.”

 

I was disconcerted, for I had broken away without quite seeing where I was going to. It was not to be shuffled off now, however, and I answered, “The beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham’s, and she’s more beautiful than anybody ever was, and I admire her dreadfully, and I want to be a gentleman on her account.” Having made this lunatic confession, I began to throw my torn-up grass into the river, as if I had some thoughts of following it.

 

The sergeant and I were in the kitchen when Mrs. Joe stood staring; at which crisis I partially recovered the use of my senses. It was the sergeant who had spoken to me, and he was now looking round at the company, with his handcuffs invitingly extended towards them in his right hand, and his left on my shoulder.

 

“Wounded desperate, miss,” replied Giles, with indescribable complacency.

 

“Not a bit of it,” replied Mr. Giles. “He was as firm—ah! pretty near as firm as I was.”

 

“It’s all a lie together,” replied Fagin. “I haven’t one—not one.”

 

“That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton, Blathers,” said Mr. Duff, assisting his colleague’s memory.

 

“I never thought you had told us anything but the truth,” said Rose, soothing him. “But what is this?—of whom do you speak?”

 

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