Near London,' was Peggotty's answer.

I was obliged to get her to repeat it, for she spoke it the first time quite down my throat, in consequence of my having forgotten to take my mouth away from the keyhole and put my ear there; and though her words tickled me a good deal, I didn't hear them.
'When, Peggotty ?' 'Tomorrow.' 'Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes out of my drawers ?' which she had done, though I have forgotten to mention it.
'Yes,' said Peggotty.

'Box.' 'Shan't I see mama ?' 'Yes,' said Peggotty.

'Morning.' Then Peggotty fitted her mouth close to the keyhole, and delivered these words through it with as much feeling and earnestness as a keyhole has ever been the medium of communicating, I will venture to assert: shooting in each broken little sentence in a convulsive little burst of its own.
'Davy, dear.

If I ain't been azackly as intimate with you.