But it was these solemn lessons which succeeded those �
the bedroom had changed and I was to lie a long way off.
I rambled over a hundred years run together through the trim

grass-plot, and was reminded I was now a rich man�s sister
and must appear suitably. There, said I, there is the man
who has the best right to open it. I crept, at last, upon a sort

of grass-grown battery overhung by a great cheerfulness
and quickness. I finished my search amidst murmurs and shrieks,
and deep shuddering whispers, exactly as my poor mother had

so often described the voice of my father, the SEAHORSE
(a deserter, a rebel, and now a condemned murderer).
Aye, aye? said Steerforth, returning. I was glad to see him,

this gentleman in a loose grey morning coat and waistcoat
of white answering with another entreaty to cheer up.
I had nothing better to offer than a timid, Oh, indeed.

He told me of Miss Betsey who lived near Dover and Prince
Alphabet turning topsy-turvy (no surprise to me, the latter,
the Prince being a simpering fellow with weak legs). The truth

of past pilgrims and of narrow-minded ones at present day,
we soon adorned with finery. Steerforth the Old Soldier fanned
himself in a sort of calm prophetic monologue that stopped seamen

by their very sleeves. This was something more than anything else
to me in my solitude and disgrace. I lay down in the old little bed
in the stern of the boat forgetting the revengeful boot-maker�s

remarks on my prettiness and turned my face another way.



�2006 by PJ Nights