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and especially when Steerforth and I were happily seated
over our dinner by a blazing fire, it was delicious to think
of having been there. 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 ex-
cellent 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 gather-
ing 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 eas-
ily 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. I was standing close to him,
looking at him; and still, with a heavy brow, he was lost in
his meditations.