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ever； were like those of a teetotum nearly spent。
'I had a presentiment； last time； that we should be better and more
intimately acquainted。 Is it ing on you； Flintwinch？ Is it yet ing
on？'
'Why； no； sir；' retorted Mr Flintwinch。 'Not unusually。 Hadn't you
better be seated？ You have been calling for some more of that port； sir；
I guess？'
'Ah； Little joker！ Little pig！' cried the visitor。 'Ha ha ha ha！' And
throwing Mr Flintwinch away； as a closing piece of raillery； he sat down
again。
The amazement； suspicion； resentment； and shame； with which Arthur
looked on at all this； struck him dumb。 Mr Flintwinch； who had spun
backward some two or three yards under the impetus last given to him；
brought himself up with a face pletely unchanged in its stolidity
except as it was affected by shortness of breath； and looked hard at
Arthur。 Not a whit less reticent and wooden was Mr Flintwinch outwardly；
than in the usual course of things： the only perceptible difference in
him being that the knot of cravat which was generally under his ear；
had worked round to the back of his head： where it formed an ornamental
appendage not unlike a bagwig； and gave him something of a courtly
appearance。 As Mrs Clennam never removed her eyes from Blandois （on whom
they had some effect； as a steady look has on a lower sort of dog）； so
Jeremiah never removed his from Arthur。 It was as if they had tacitly
agreed to take their different provinces。 Thus； in the ensuing silence；
Jeremiah stood scraping his chin and looking at Arthur as though he were
trying to screw his thoughts out of him with an instrument。
After a little； the visitor； as if he felt the silence irksome； rose；
and impatiently put himself with his back to the sacred fire which had
burned through so many years。 Thereupon Mrs Clennam said； moving one of
her hands for the first time； and moving it very slightly with an action
of dismissal：
'Please to leave us to our business； Arthur。' 'Mother； I do so with
reluctance。'
'Never mind with what；' she returned； 'or with what not。 Please to leave
us。 e back at any other time when you may consider it a duty to bury
half an hour wearily here。 Good night。'
She held up her muffled fingers that he might touch them with his；
according to their usual custom； and he stood over her wheeled chair to
touch her face with his lips。 He thought； then； that her cheek was
more strained than usual； and that it was colder。 As he followed the
direction of her eyes； in rising again； towards Mr Flintwinch's good
friend； Mr Blandois； Mr Blandois snapped his finger and thumb with one
loud contemptuous snap。
'I leave your……your business acquaintance in my mother's room； Mr
Flintwinch；' said Clennam； 'with a great deal of surprise and a great
deal of unwillingness。'
The person referred to snapped his finger and thumb again。
'Good night； mother。'
'Good night。'
'I had a friend once； my good rade Flintwinch；' said Blandois；
standing astride before the fire； and so evidently saying it to arrest
Clennam's retreating steps； that he lingered near the door； 'I had a
friend once； who had heard so much of the dark side of this city and
its ways； that he wouldn't have confided himself alone by night with two
people who had an interest in getting him under the ground……my faith！
not even in a respectable house like this……unless he was bodily too
strong for them。 Bah！ What a poltroon； my Flintwinch！ Eh？'
'A cur； sir。'
'Agreed！ A cur。 But he wouldn't have done it； my Flintwinch； unless he
had known them to have the will to silence him； without the power。 He
wouldn't have drunk from a glass of water under such circumstances……not
even in a respectable house like this； my Flintwinch……unless he had seen
one of them drink first； and swallow too！'
Disdaining to speak； and indeed not very well able； for he was
half…choking； Clennam only glanced at the visitor as he passed out。
The visitor saluted him with another parting snap； and his nose came
down over his moustache and his moustache went up under his nose； in an
ominous and ugly smile。
'For Heaven's sake； Affery；' whispered Clennam； as she opened the door
for him in the dark hall； and he groped his way to the sight of the
night…sky； 'what is going on here？'
Her own appearance was sufficiently ghastly； standing in the dark
with her apron thrown over her head； and speaking behind it in a low；
deadened voice。
'Don't ask me anything； Arthur。 I've been in a dream for ever so long。
Go away！'
He went out； and she shut the door upon him。 He looked up at the windows
of his mother's room； and the dim light； deadened by the yellow blinds；
seemed to say a response after Affery； and to mutter； 'Don't ask me
anything。 Go away！'
CHAPTER 11。 A Letter from Little Dorrit
Dear Mr Clennam；
As I said in my last that it was best for nobody to write to me； and
as my sending you another little letter can therefore give you no other
trouble than the trouble of reading it （perhaps you may not find leisure
for even that； though I hope you will some day）； I am now going to
devote an hour to writing to you again。 This time； I write from Rome。
We left Venice before Mr and Mrs Gowan did； but they were not so long
upon the road as we were； and did not travel by the same way； and so
when we arrived we found them in a lodging here； in a place called the
Via Gregoriana。 I dare say you know it。
Now I am going to tell you all I can about them； because I know that is
what you most want to hear。 Theirs is not a very fortable lodging；
but perhaps I thought it less so when I first saw it than you would have
done； because you have been in many different countries and have
seen many different customs。 Of course it is a far； far better
place……millions of times……than any I have ever been used to until
lately； and I fancy I don't look at it with my own eyes； but with hers。
For it would be easy to see that she has always been brought up in a
tender and happy home； even if she had not told me so with great love
for it。
Well； it is a rather bare lodging up a rather dark mon staircase； and
it is nearly all a large dull room； where Mr Gowan paints。 The windows
are blocked up where any one could look out； and the walls have been
all drawn over with chalk and charcoal by others who have lived there
before……oh；……I should think； for years！
There is a curtain more dust…coloured than red； which divides it； and
the part behind the curtain makes the private sitting…room。
When I first saw her there she was alone； and her work had fallen out of
her hand； and she was looking up at the sky shining through the tops of
the windows。 Pray do not be uneasy when I tell you； but it was not
quite so airy； nor so bright； nor so cheerful； nor so happy and youthful
altogether as I should have liked it to be。
On account of Mr Gowan's painting Papa's picture （which I am not quite
convinced I should have known from the likeness if I had not seen him
doing it）； I have had more opportunities of being with her since then
than I might have had without this fortunate chance。 She is very much
alone。 Very much alone indeed。
Shall I tell you about the