But it stands to reason, his time being valuable, that he won't be longer than he can help." With those words, the clerk opened a door, and ushered me into an inner chamber at the back.

Here, we found a gentleman with one eye, in a velveteen suit and knee-breeches, who wiped his nose with his sleeve on being interrupted in the perusal of the newspaper.
"Go and wait outside, Mike," said the clerk.
I began to say that I hoped I was not interrupting, when the clerk shoved this gentleman out with as little ceremony as I ever saw used, and tossing his fur cap out after him, left me alone.
Mr.Jaggers's room was lighted by a skylight only, and was a most dismal place; the skylight, eccentrically pitched like a broken head, and the distorted adjoining houses looking as if they had twisted themselves to peep down at me through it.

There were not so many papers about, as I should have expected to see; and there were some odd objects about, that I should not have expected to see,--such as an old rusty pistol, a sword in a scabbard, several strange-looking boxes and packages, and two dreadful casts on a shelf, of faces peculiarly swollen, and twitchy about the nose.

Mr.Jaggers's own high-backed chair was of deadly black horsehair, with rows of brass nails round it, like a coffin; and I fancied I could see how he leaned back in it, and bit his forefinger at the clients.

The room was but small, and the clients seemed to have had a habit of backing up against the wall; the wall, especially opposite to Mr.Jaggers's chair, being greasy with shoulders.