So it was, though in a softened degree, when I went to my neat room at night; and, turning over the leaves of the crocodile-book (which was always there, upon a little table), remembered with a grateful heart how blest I was in having such a friend as Steerforth, such a friend as Peggotty, and such a substitute for what I had lost as my excellent and generous aunt.
MY nearest way to Yarmouth, in coming back from these long walks, was by a ferry.

It landed me on the flat between the town and the sea, which I could make straight across, and so save myself a considerable circuit by the high road.

Mr.Peggotty's house being on that waste-place, and not a hundred yards out of my track, I always looked in as I went by.
Steerforth was pretty sure to be there expecting me, and we went on together through the frosty air and gathering fog towards the twinkling lights of the town.
One dark evening, when I was later than usual--for I had, that day, been making my parting visit to Blunderstone, as we were now about to return home--I found him alone in Mr.Peggotty's house, sitting thoughtfully before the fire.

He was so intent upon his own reflections that he was quite unconscious of my approach.

This, indeed, he might easily have been if he had been less absorbed, for footsteps fell noiselessly on the sandy ground outside; but even my entrance failed to rouse him.