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I pass over Mr. Wickfield's proposing my aunt, his proposing Mr. Dick, his proposing Doctors' Commons, his proposing Uriah, his drinking everything twice; his consciousness of his own weakness, the ineffectual effort that he made against it; the struggle between his shame in Uriah's deportment, and his desire to conciliate him; the manifest exultation with which Uriah twisted and turned, and held him up before me. It made me sick at heart to see, and my hand recoils from writing it. ¡¡¡¡'Come, fellow-partner!' said Uriah, at last,
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'I'll give you another one, and I umbly ask for bumpers, seeing I intend to make it the divinest of her sex.' ¡¡¡¡Her father had his empty glass in his hand. I saw him set it down, look at the picture she was so like, put his hand to his forehead, and shrink back in his elbow-chair. ¡¡¡¡'I'm an umble individual to give you her elth,' proceeded Uriah, 'but I admire - adore her.' ¡¡¡¡No physical pain that her father's grey head could have borne, I think, could have been more terrible to me, than the mental endurance I saw compressed now within both his hands.