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Yazar: Charles Dickens

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"Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver," said Mr.
Lorry, reddening, "that I will hear no disrespectful word of that
young lady from any lips; and that if I knew any man--which I
hope I do not--whose taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so
overbearing, that he could not restrain himself from speaking
disrespectfully of that young lady at this desk, not even
Tellson's should prevent my giving him a piece of my mind."
The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr.
Stryver's blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his
turn to be angry; Mr. Lorry's veins, methodical as their courses
could usually be, were in no better state now it was his turn.
"That is what I mean to tell you, sir," said Mr. Lorry. "Pray let
there be no mistake about it."
Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and
then stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which
probably gave him the toothache. He broke the awkward silence by
saying:

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