Yet, what I suffered outside was nothing to what I underwent within.

The terrors that had assailed me whenever Mrs.Joe had gone near the pantry, or out of the room, were only to be equalled by the remorse with which my mind dwelt on what my hands had done.

Under the weight of my wicked secret, I pondered whether the Church would be powerful enough to shield me from the vengeance of the terrible young man, if I divulged to that establishment.

I conceived the idea that the time when the banns were read and when the clergyman said, "Ye are now to declare it!" would be the time for me to rise and propose a private conference in the vestry.

I am far from being sure that I might not have astonished our small congregation by resorting to this extreme measure, but for its being Christmas Day and no Sunday.
Mr.Wopsle, the clerk at church, was to dine with us; and Mr.Hubble the wheelwright and Mrs.Hubble; and Uncle Pumblechook (Joe's uncle, but Mrs.Joe appropriated him), who was a well-to-do cornchandler in the nearest town, and drove his own chaise-cart.