The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens, Matthew Pearl

sub-Treasurer
said, and what the Committee said, and what the sub-Committee said, and what
the Secretary said, and what the Vice-Secretary said. And this was usually said
in the unanimouslycarried resolution under hand and seal, to the effect: “That
this assembled Body of Professing Philanthropists views, with indignant scorn
and contempt, not unmixed with utter detestation and loathing abhorrence”—in
short, the baseness of all those who do not belong to it, and pledges itself to
make as many obnoxious statements as possible about them, without being at all
particular as to facts.
     
  The dinner was a most doleful breakdown.
The philanthropist deranged the symmetry of the table, sat himself in the way
of the waiting, blocked up the thoroughfare, and drove Mr. Tope (who assisted
the parlour-maid) to the verge of distraction by passing plates and dishes on,
over his own head. Nobody could talk to anybody, because he held forth to
everybody at once, as if the company had no individual existence, but were a
Meeting. He impounded the Reverend Mr. Septimus, as an official personage to be
addressed, or kind of human peg to hang his oratorical hat on, and fell into
the exasperating habit, common among such orators, of impersonating him as a
wicked and weak opponent. Thus, he would ask: “And will you, sir, now stultify
yourself by telling me”—and so forth, when the innocent man had not opened his
lips, nor meant to open them. Or he would say: “Now see, sir, to what a
position you are reduced. I will leave you no escape. After exhausting all the
resources of fraud and falsehood, during years upon years; after exhibiting a
combination of dastardly meanness with ensanguined daring, such as the world
has not often witnessed; you have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the
most degraded of mankind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy!” Whereat the
unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant and in part perplexed;
while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her eyes, and the remainder
of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous state, in which there was no
flavour or solidity, and very little resistance.
     
  But the gush of philanthropy that burst
forth when the departure of Mr. Honeythunder began to impend, must have been
highly gratifying to the feelings of that distinguished man. His coffee was
produced, by the special activity of Mr. Tope, a full hour before he wanted it.
Mr. Crisparkle sat with his watch in his hand for about the same period, lest
he should overstay his time. The four young people were unanimous in believing
that the Cathedral clock struck three-quarters, when it actually struck but
one. Miss Twinkleton estimated the distance to the omnibus at five-and-twenty
minutes” walk, when it was really five. The affectionate kindness of the whole
circle hustled him into his greatcoat, and shoved him out into the moonlight,
as if he were a fugitive traitor with whom they sympathised, and a troop of
horse were at the back door. Mr. Crisparkle and his new charge, who took him to
the omnibus, were so fervent in their apprehensions of his catching cold, that
they shut him up in it instantly and left him, with still half-an-hour to
spare.
     
   
     
   
     
  CHAPTER VII—MORE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE
     
   
     
  “I KNOW very little of that gentleman,
sir,” said Neville to the Minor Canon as they turned back.
     
  “You know very little of your guardian?”
the Minor Canon repeated.
     
  “Almost nothing!”
     
  “How came he—”
     
  “To BE my guardian? I'll tell you, sir.
I suppose you know that we come (my sister and I) from Ceylon?”
     
  “Indeed, no.”
     
  “I wonder at that. We lived with a
stepfather there. Our mother died there, when we were little children. We have
had a wretched existence. She made him our guardian, and he was a miserly
wretch who grudged us food to eat, and clothes to wear. At his death, he passed
us