As I stood idle by Mr.Jaggers's fire, its rising and falling flame made the two casts on the shelf look as if they were playing a diabolical game at bo-peep with me; while the pair of coarse, fat office candles that dimly lighted Mr.Jaggers as he wrote in a corner were decorated with dirty winding-sheets, as if in remembrance of a host of hanged clients.
We went to Gerrard Street, all three together, in a hackney-coach: And, as soon as we got there, dinner was served.

Although I should not have thought of making, in that place, the most distant reference by so much as a look to Wemmick's Walworth sentiments, yet I should have had no objection to catching his eye now and then in a friendly way.

But it was not to be done.

He turned his eyes on Mr.Jaggers whenever he raised them from the table, and was as dry and distant to me as if there were twin Wemmicks, and this was the wrong one.
"Did you send that note of Miss Havisham's to Mr.Pip, Wemmick ?" Mr.
Jaggers asked, soon after we began dinner.
"No, sir," returned Wemmick; "it was going by post, when you brought Mr.
Pip into the office.

Here it is." He handed it to his principal instead of to me.
"It's a note of two lines, Pip," said Mr.Jaggers, handing it on, "sent up to me by Miss Havisham on account of her not being sure of your address.