"Try a tenderer bit." "No, thank you," I replied, turning from the table to brood over the fire.

"I can eat no more.

Please take it away." I had never been struck at so keenly, for my thanklessness to Joe, as through the brazen impostor Pumblechook.

The falser he, the truer Joe; the meaner he, the nobler Joe.
My heart was deeply and most deservedly humbled as I mused over the fire for an hour or more.

The striking of the clock aroused me, but not from my dejection or remorse, and I got up and had my coat fastened round my neck, and went out.