Change Begets Change.

He Describes It As A Large Apartment, With A Red Brick Floor And A Capacious Chimney; The Ceiling Garnished With Hams, Sides Of Bacon, And Ropes Of Onions.

Equity Sends Questions To Law. Law Sends Questions Back To Equity; Law Finds It Can't Do This, Equity Finds It Can't Do That; Neither Can Do Anything, Without This Solicitor Instructing And This Counsel Appearing For A, And That Solicitor Instructing & That Counsel Appearing For B.

Then, At The End Of Every Hand, Miss Bolo Would Inquire With A Dismal Countenance And Reproachful Sigh, Why Mr. Pickwick Had Not Returned That Diamond, Or Led The Club, Or Roughed The Spade, Or Finessed The Heart, Or Led Through The Honour, Or Brought Out The Ace, Or Played Up To The King, Or Some Such Thing; And In Reply To All These Grave Charges, Mr. Pickwick Would Be Wholly Unable To Plead Any Justification Whatever, Having By This Time Forgotten All About The Game.

"drink With Me, My Dear," Said Mr. Weller. "put Your Lips To This Here Tumbler, And Then I Can Kiss You By Deputy."

She Was Too Intent Upon Her Work, And Too Earnest In What She Said, And Too Composed And Quiet Altogether, To Be On The Watch For Any Look He Might Direct Towards Her In Reply; So The Shaft Of His Ungrateful Glance Fell Harmless, And Did Not Wound Her.