th him, crying individually 'Dombey, don't forget me!'
and indulging in many such ebullitions of feeling, uncommon among those
young Chesterfields. Paul whispered Florence, as she wrapped him up
before the door was opened, Did she hear them? Would she ever forget
it? Was she glad to know it? And a lively delight was in his eyes as he
spoke to her.

Once, for a last look, he turned and gazed upon the faces thus addressed
to him, surprised to see how shining and how bright, and numerous they
were, and how they were all piled and heaped up, as faces are at crowded
theatres. They swam before him as he looked, like faces in an agitated
glass; and next moment he was in the dark coach outside, holding close
to Florence. From that time, whenever he thought of Doctor Blimber's, it
came back as he had seen it in this last view; and it never seemed to be
a real place again, but always a dream, full of eyes.

This was not quite the last of Doctor Blimber's, however. There was
something else. There was Mr Toots. Who, unexpectedly letting down
one of the coach-windows, and looking in, said, with a most egregious
chuckle, 'Is Dombey there?' and immediately put it up again, without
waiting for an answer. Nor was this quite the last of Mr Toots, even;
for before the coachman could drive off, he as suddenly let down the
other window, and looking in with a precisely similar chuckle, said in
a precisely similar tone of voice, 'Is Dombey there?' and disappeared
precisely as before.

How Florence laughed! Paul often remembered it, and laughed himself
whenever he did so.

But there was much, soon afterwards--next day, and after that--which
Paul could only recollect confusedly. As, why they stayed at Mrs
Pipchin's days and nights, instead of going home; why he lay in bed,
with Florence sitting by his side; whether that had been his father in
the room, or only a tall shadow on the wall; whether he had heard his
doctor say, of someone, that if they had removed him before the occasion
on which he had built up fancies, strong in proportion to his own
weakness, it was very possible he might have pined away.

He could not even remember whether he had often said to Florence, 'Oh
Floy, take me home, and never leave me!' but he thought he had. He
fancied sometimes he had heard himself repeating, 'Take me home, Floy!
take me home!'

But he could remember, when he got home, and was carried up the
well-remembered stairs, that there had been the rum