This is fearful.' It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was going forward.

So out went Mr.Pickwick's head again.

The prospect was worse than before.

The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair; had carefully enveloped it in a muslin nightcap with a small plaited border; and was gazing pensively on the fire.
'This matter is growing alarming,' reasoned Mr.Pickwick with himself.
'I can't allow things to go on in this way.

By the self-possession of that lady, it is clear to me that I must have come into the wrong room.