David Copperfield

CHAPTER 25

GOOD AND BAD ANGELS

I

was going out at my door on the morning after that de-

plorable day of headache, sickness, and repentance, with

an odd confusion in my mind relative to the date of my din-

ner-party, as if a body of Titans had taken an enormous lever

and pushed the day before yesterday some months back,

when I saw a ticket-porter coming upstairs, with a letter in

his hand. He was taking his time about his errand, then; but

when he saw me on the top of the staircase, looking at him

over the banisters, he swung into a trot, and came up pant-

ing as if he had run himself into a state of exhaustion.

‘T. Copperfield, Esquire,’ said the ticket-porter, touching

his hat with his little cane.

I could scarcely lay claim to the name: I was so disturbed

by the conviction that the letter came from Agnes. However,

I told him I was T. Copperfield, Esquire, and he believed it,

and gave me the letter, which he said required an answer.

I shut him out on the landing to wait for the answer, and

went into my chambers again, in such a nervous state that I

was fain to lay the letter down on my breakfast table, and fa-

miliarize myself with the outside of it a little, before I could