inly, no particular attractions, either in the room
over which the glance of Mr Squeers so discontentedly wandered, or in
the narrow street into which it might have penetrated, if he had thought
fit to approach the window. The attic chamber in which he sat was
bare and mean; the bedstead, and such few other articles of necessary
furniture as it contained, were of the commonest description, in a most
crazy state, and of a most uninviting appearance. The street was muddy,
dirty, and deserted. Having but one outlet, it was traversed by few but
the inhabitants at any time; and the night being one of those on which
most people are glad to be within doors, it now presented no other signs
of life than the dull glimmering of poor candles from the dirty windows,
and few sounds but the pattering of the rain, and occasionally the heavy
closing of some creaking door.

Mr Squeers continued to look disconsolately about him, and to listen
to these noises in profound silence, broken only by the rustling of his
large coat, as he now and then moved his arm to raise his glass to
his lips. Mr Squeers continued to do this for some time, until the
increasing gloom warned him to snuff the candle. Seeming to be slightly
roused by this exertion, he raised his eye to the ceiling, and fixing it
upon some uncouth and fantastic figures, traced upon it by the wet and
damp which had penetrated through the roof, broke into the following
soliloquy:

'Well, this is a pretty go, is this here! An uncommon pretty go! Here
have I been, a matter of how many weeks--hard upon six--a follering up
this here blessed old dowager petty larcenerer,'--Mr Squeers delivered
himself of this epithet with great difficulty and effort,--'and
Dotheboys Hall a-running itself regularly to seed the while! That's the
worst of ever being in with a owdacious chap like that old Nickleby. You
never know when he's done with you, and if you're in for a penny, you're
in for a pound.'

This remark, perhaps, reminded Mr Squeers that he was in for a hundred
pound at any rate. His countenance relaxed, and he raised his glass to
his mouth with an air of greater enjoyment of its contents than he had
before evinced.

'I never see,' soliloquised Mr Squeers in continuation, 'I never see
nor come across such a file as that old Nickleby. Never! He's out of
everybody's depth, he is. He's what you may call a rasper, is Nickleby.
To see how sly and cunning he grubbed on, day after day, a-worming