WhenIcamedownagain, IfoundJoeandOrlicksweepingup, withoutanyothertracesofdiscomposurethanaslitinoneofOrlick’snostrils, , , whofollowedmeoutintotheroadtosay, asapartingobservationthatmightdomegood, “OntheRampage, Pip, andofftheRampage, Pip—suchisLife!”

Withwhatabsurdemotions (for, wethinkthefeelingsthatareveryseriousinamanquitecomicalinaboy) IfoundmyselfagaingoingtoMissHavisham’s, , , howIdebatedwhetherIshouldgoawaywithoutringing; nor, howIshouldundoubtedlyhavegone, ifmytimehadbeenmyown, tocomeback.

.

“How, then? Youhereagain?” saidMissPocket.“Whatdoyouwant?”

WhenIsaidthatIonlycametoseehowMissHavishamwas, , unwillingtohazardtheresponsibility, sheletmein, andpresentlybroughtthesharpmessagethatIwasto “comeup.”

Everythingwasunchanged, andMissHavishamwasalone.

“Well?” saidshe, fixinghereyesuponme.“Ihopeyouwantnothing? You’llgetnothing.”

“Noindeed, , andamalwaysmuchobligedtoyou.”

“There, there!” withtheoldrestlessfingers.“Comenowandthen; comeonyourbirthday.—Ay!” shecriedsuddenly, turningherselfandherchairtowardsme, “youarelookingroundforEstella? Hey?”

Ihadbeenlookinground—infact, forEstella—andIstammeredthatIhopedshewaswell.

“Abroad,” saidMissHavisham; “educatingforalady; faroutofreach; prettierthanever; ?”

Therewassuchamalignantenjoymentinherutteranceofthelastwords, andshebrokeintosuchadisagreeablelaugh, , -shellcountenance, Ifeltmorethaneverdissatisfiedwithmyhomeandwithmytradeandwitheverything; andthatwasallItookbythatmotion.