["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Until the day arrived on which I was to entertain my newly-found\nold friends, I lived principally on Dora and coffee. In my love-lorn\ncondition, my appetite languished; and I was glad of it, for I felt\nas though it would have been an act of perfidy towards Dora to have a\nnatural relish for my dinner. The quantity of walking exercise I took,\nwas not in this respect attended with its usual consequence, as the\ndisappointment counteracted the fresh air. I have my doubts, too,\nfounded on the acute experience acquired at this period of my life,\nwhether a sound enjoyment of animal food can develop itself freely in\nany human subject who is always in torment from tight boots. I think\nthe extremities require to be at peace before the stomach will conduct\nitself with vigour. On the occasion of this domestic little party, I did not repeat my\nformer extensive preparations. I merely provided a pair of soles,\na small leg of mutton, and a pigeon-pie. Mrs. Crupp broke out into\nrebellion on my first bashful hint in reference to the cooking of the\nfish and joint, and said, with a dignified sense of injury, 'No! No,\nsir! You will not ask me sich a thing, for you are better acquainted\nwith me than to suppose me capable of doing what I cannot do with ampial\nsatisfaction to my own feelings!' But, in the end, a compromise was\neffected; and Mrs. Crupp consented to achieve this feat, on condition\nthat I dined from home for a fortnight afterwards. And here I may remark, that what I underwent from Mrs. Crupp, in\nconsequence of the tyranny she established over me, was dreadful. I\nnever was so much afraid of anyone. We made a compromise of everything. If I hesitated, she was taken with that wonderful disorder which was\nalways lying in ambush in her system, ready, at the shortest notice, to\nprey upon her vitals. If I rang the bell impatiently, after half-a-dozen\nunavailing modest pulls, and she appeared at last--which was not by any\nmeans to be relied upon--she would appear with a reproachful aspect,\nsink breathless on a chair near the door, lay her hand upon her nankeen\nbosom, and become so ill, that I was glad, at any sacrifice of brandy or\nanything else, to get rid of her. If I objected to having my bed made at\nfive o'clock in the afternoon--which I do still think an uncomfortable\narrangement--one motion of her hand towards the same nankeen region of\nwounded sensibility was enough to make me falter an apology. In short,\nI would have done anything in an honourable way rather than give Mrs.\nCrupp offence; and she was the terror of my life. I bought a second-hand dumb-waiter for this dinner-party, in preference\nto re-engaging the handy young man; against whom I had conceived a\nprejudice, in consequence of meeting him in the Strand, one Sunday\nmorning, in a waistcoat remarkably like one of mine, which had been\nmissing since the former occasion. The 'young gal' was re-engaged; but\non the stipulation that she should only bring in the dishes, and then\nwithdraw to the landing-place, beyond the outer door; where a habit of\nsniffing she had contracted would be lost upon the guests, and where her\nretiring on the plates would be a physical impossibility. Having laid in the materials for a bowl of punch, to be compounded\nby Mr. Micawber; having provided a bottle of lavender-water, two\nwax-candles, a paper of mixed pins, and a pincushion, to assist Mrs.\nMicawber in her toilette at my dressing-table; having also caused the\nfire in my bedroom to be lighted for Mrs. Micawber's convenience; and\nhaving laid the cloth with my own hands, I awaited the result with\ncomposure. At the appointed time, my three visitors arrived together. Mr. Micawber\nwith more shirt-collar than usual, and a new ribbon to his eye-glass;\nMrs. Micawber with her cap in a whitey-brown paper parcel; Traddles\ncarrying the parcel, and supporting Mrs. Micawber on his arm. They were\nall delighted with my residence. When I conducted Mrs. Micawber to my\ndressing-table, and she saw the scale on which it was prepared for her,\nshe was in such raptures, that she called Mr. Micawber to come in and\nlook. 'My dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'this is luxurious. This is a\nway of life which reminds me of the period when I was myself in a state\nof celibacy, and Mrs. Micawber had not yet been solicited to plight her\nfaith at the Hymeneal altar.' 'He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber,\narchly. 'He cannot answer for others.' 'My dear,' returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, 'I have no\ndesire to answer for others. I am too well aware that when, in the\ninscrutable decrees of Fate, you were reserved for me, it is possible\nyou may have been reserved for one, destined, after a protracted\nstruggle, at length to fall a victim to pecuniary involvements of a\ncomplicated nature. I understand your allusion, my love. I regret it,\nbut I can bear it.' 'Micawber!' exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. 'Have I deserved this! I,\nwho never have deserted you; who never WILL desert you, Micawber!' 'My\nlove,' said Mr. Micawber, much affected, 'you will forgive, and our old\nand tried friend Copperfield will, I am sure, forgive, the momentary\nlaceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent collision\nwith the Minion of Power--in other words, with a ribald Turncock\nattached to the water-works--and will pity, not condemn, its excesses.' Mr. Micawber then embraced Mrs. Micawber, and pressed my hand; leaving\nme to infer from this broken allusion that his domestic supply of\nwater had been cut off that afternoon, in consequence of default in the\npayment of the company's rates. To divert his thoughts from this melancholy subject, I informed Mr.\nMicawber that I relied upon him for a bowl of punch, and led him to\nthe lemons. His recent despondency, not to say despair, was gone in a\nmoment. I never saw a man so thoroughly enjoy himself amid the fragrance\nof lemon-peel and sugar, the odour of burning rum, and the steam of\nboiling water, as Mr. Micawber did that afternoon. It was wonderful to\nsee his face shining at us out of a thin cloud of these delicate fumes,\nas he stirred, and mixed, and tasted, and looked as if he were making,\ninstead of punch, a fortune for his family down to the latest posterity. As to Mrs. Micawber, I don't know whether it was the effect of the cap,\nor the lavender-water, or the pins, or the fire, or the wax-candles, but\nshe came out of my room, comparatively speaking, lovely. And the lark\nwas never gayer than that excellent woman. I suppose--I never ventured to inquire, but I suppose--that Mrs. Crupp,\nafter frying the soles, was taken ill. Because we broke down at that\npoint. The leg of mutton came up very red within, and very pale without:\nbesides having a foreign substance of a gritty nature sprinkled over\nit, as if if had had a fall into the ashes of that remarkable kitchen\nfireplace. But we were not in condition to judge of this fact from the\nappearance of the gravy, forasmuch as the 'young gal' had dropped it all\nupon the stairs--where it remained, by the by, in a long train, until it\nwas worn out. The pigeon-pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie: the\ncrust being like a disappointing head, phrenologically speaking: full\nof lumps and bumps, with nothing particular underneath. In short, the\nbanquet was such a failure that I should have been quite unhappy--about\nthe failure, I mean, for I was always unhappy about Dora--if I had not\nbeen relieved by the great good humour of my company, and by a bright\nsuggestion from Mr. Micawber. 'My dear friend Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'accidents will occur\nin the best-regulated families; and in families not regulated by that\npervading influence which sanctifies while it enhances the--a--I would\nsay, in short, by the influence of Woman, in the lofty character of\nWife, they may be expected with confidence, and must be borne with\nphilosophy.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> If you will allow me to take the liberty of remarking that\nthere are few comestibles better, in their way, than a Devil, and that\nI believe, with a little division of labour, we could accomplish a good\none if the young person in attendance could produce a gridiron, I would\nput it to you, that this little misfortune may be easily repaired.' There was a gridiron in the pantry, on which my morning rasher of\nbacon was cooked. We had it in, in a twinkling, and immediately applied\nourselves to carrying Mr. Micawber's idea into effect. The division of\nlabour to which he had referred was this:--Traddles cut the mutton into\nslices; Mr. Micawber (who could do anything of this sort to perfection)\ncovered them with pepper, mustard, salt, and cayenne; I put them on\nthe gridiron, turned them with a fork, and took them off, under Mr.\nMicawber's direction; and Mrs. Micawber heated, and continually stirred,\nsome mushroom ketchup in a little saucepan. When we had slices enough\ndone to begin upon, we fell-to, with our sleeves still tucked up at the\nwrist, more slices sputtering and blazing on the fire, and our attention\ndivided between the mutton on our plates, and the mutton then preparing. What with the novelty of this cookery, the excellence of it, the bustle\nof it, the frequent starting up to look after it, the frequent sitting\ndown to dispose of it as the crisp slices came off the gridiron hot and\nhot, the being so busy, so flushed with the fire, so amused, and in the\nmidst of such a tempting noise and savour, we reduced the leg of mutton\nto the bone. My own appetite came back miraculously. I am ashamed to\nrecord it, but I really believe I forgot Dora for a little while. I am\nsatisfied that Mr. and Mrs. Micawber could not have enjoyed the\nfeast more, if they had sold a bed to provide it. Traddles laughed as\nheartily, almost the whole time, as he ate and worked. Indeed we all\ndid, all at once; and I dare say there was never a greater success. We were at the height of our enjoyment, and were all busily engaged, in\nour several departments, endeavouring to bring the last batch of slices\nto a state of perfection that should crown the feast, when I was aware\nof a strange presence in the room, and my eyes encountered those of the\nstaid Littimer, standing hat in hand before me. 'What's the matter?' I involuntarily asked. 'I beg your pardon, sir, I was directed to come in. Is my master not\nhere, sir?' 'No.' 'Have you not seen him, sir?' 'No; don't you come from him?' 'Not immediately so, sir.' 'Did he tell you you would find him here?' 'Not exactly so, sir. But I should think he might be here tomorrow, as\nhe has not been here today.' 'Is he coming up from Oxford?' 'I beg, sir,' he returned respectfully, 'that you will be seated, and\nallow me to do this.' With which he took the fork from my unresisting\nhand, and bent over the gridiron, as if his whole attention were\nconcentrated on it. We should not have been much discomposed, I dare say, by the appearance\nof Steerforth himself, but we became in a moment the meekest of the meek\nbefore his respectable serving-man. Mr. Micawber, humming a tune, to\nshow that he was quite at ease, subsided into his chair, with the handle\nof a hastily concealed fork sticking out of the bosom of his coat, as\nif he had stabbed himself. Mrs. Micawber put on her brown gloves, and\nassumed a genteel languor. Traddles ran his greasy hands through\nhis hair, and stood it bolt upright, and stared in confusion on the\ntable-cloth. As for me, I was a mere infant at the head of my own table;\nand hardly ventured to glance at the respectable phenomenon, who had\ncome from Heaven knows where, to put my establishment to rights. Meanwhile he took the mutton off the gridiron, and gravely handed it\nround. We all took some, but our appreciation of it was gone, and we\nmerely made a show of eating it. As we severally pushed away our plates,\nhe noiselessly removed them, and set on the cheese. He took that off,\ntoo, when it was done with; cleared the table; piled everything on the\ndumb-waiter; gave us our wine-glasses; and, of his own accord, wheeled\nthe dumb-waiter into the pantry. All this was done in a perfect manner,\nand he never raised his eyes from what he was about. Yet his very\nelbows, when he had his back towards me, seemed to teem with the\nexpression of his fixed opinion that I was extremely young. 'Can I do anything more, sir?' I thanked him and said, No; but would he take no dinner himself? 'None, I am obliged to you, sir.' 'Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?' 'I beg your pardon, sir?' 'Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?' 'I should imagine that he might be here tomorrow, sir. I rather thought\nhe might have been here today, sir. The mistake is mine, no doubt, sir.' 'If you should see him first--' said I. 'If you'll excuse me, sir, I don't think I shall see him first.' 'In case you do,' said I, 'pray say that I am sorry he was not here\ntoday, as an old schoolfellow of his was here.' 'Indeed, sir!' and he divided a bow between me and Traddles, with a\nglance at the latter. He was moving softly to the door, when, in a forlorn hope of saying\nsomething naturally--which I never could, to this man--I said:\n\n'Oh! Littimer!' 'Sir!' 'Did you remain long at Yarmouth, that time?' 'Not particularly so, sir.' 'You saw the boat completed?' 'Yes, sir. I remained behind on purpose to see the boat completed.' 'I know!' He raised his eyes to mine respectfully. 'Mr. Steerforth has not seen it yet, I suppose?' 'I really can't say, sir. I think--but I really can't say, sir. I wish\nyou good night, sir.' He comprehended everybody present, in the respectful bow with which he\nfollowed these words, and disappeared. My visitors seemed to breathe\nmore freely when he was gone; but my own relief was very great, for\nbesides the constraint, arising from that extraordinary sense of\nbeing at a disadvantage which I always had in this man's presence, my\nconscience had embarrassed me with whispers that I had mistrusted his\nmaster, and I could not repress a vague uneasy dread that he might\nfind it out. How was it, having so little in reality to conceal, that I\nalways DID feel as if this man were finding me out? Mr. Micawber roused me from this reflection, which was blended with\na certain remorseful apprehension of seeing Steerforth himself, by\nbestowing many encomiums on the absent Littimer as a most respectable\nfellow, and a thoroughly admirable servant. Mr. Micawber, I may remark,\nhad taken his full share of the general bow, and had received it with\ninfinite condescension. 'But punch, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, tasting it, 'like\ntime and tide, waits for no man. Ah! it is at the present moment in high\nflavour. My love, will you give me your opinion?' Mrs. Micawber pronounced it excellent. 'Then I will drink,' said Mr. Micawber, 'if my friend Copperfield\nwill permit me to take that social liberty, to the days when my friend\nCopperfield and myself were younger, and fought our way in the world\nside by side. I may say, of myself and Copperfield, in words we have\nsung together before now, that\n\n    We twa hae run about the braes\n    And pu'd the gowans' fine\n--in a figurative point of view--on several occasions. I am not exactly\naware,' said Mr. Micawber, with the old roll in his voice, and the old\nindescribable air of saying something genteel, 'what gowans may be, but\nI have no doubt that Copperfield and myself would frequently have taken\na pull at them, if it had been feasible.' Mr. Micawber, at the then present moment, took a pull at his punch. So\nwe all did: Traddles evidently lost in wondering at what distant time\nMr. Micawber and I could have been comrades in the battle of the world. 'Ahem!'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat, and warming with the\npunch and with the fire. 'My dear, another glass?' Mrs. Micawber said it must be very little; but we couldn't allow that,\nso it was a glassful. 'As we are quite confidential here, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs.\nMicawber, sipping her punch, 'Mr. Traddles being a part of our\ndomesticity, I should much like to have your opinion on Mr. Micawber's\nprospects. For corn,' said Mrs. Micawber argumentatively, 'as I have\nrepeatedly said to Mr. Micawber, may be gentlemanly, but it is not\nremunerative. Commission to the extent of two and ninepence in\na fortnight cannot, however limited our ideas, be considered\nremunerative.' We were all agreed upon that. 'Then,' said Mrs. Micawber, who prided herself on taking a clear view of\nthings, and keeping Mr. Micawber straight by her woman's wisdom, when he\nmight otherwise go a little crooked, 'then I ask myself this question. If corn is not to be relied upon, what is? Are coals to be relied upon? Not at all. We have turned our attention to that experiment, on the\nsuggestion of my family, and we find it fallacious.' Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his pockets,\neyed us aside, and nodded his head, as much as to say that the case was\nvery clearly put. 'The articles of corn and coals,' said Mrs. Micawber, still more\nargumentatively, 'being equally out of the question, Mr. Copperfield,\nI naturally look round the world, and say, \"What is there in which a\nperson of Mr. Micawber's talent is likely to succeed?\" And I exclude\nthe doing anything on commission, because commission is not a certainty. What is best suited to a person of Mr. Micawber's peculiar temperament\nis, I am convinced, a certainty.' Traddles and I both expressed, by a feeling murmur, that this great\ndiscovery was no doubt true of Mr. Micawber, and that it did him much\ncredit. 'I will not conceal from you, my dear Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs.\nMicawber, 'that I have long felt the Brewing business to be particularly\nadapted to Mr. Micawber. Look at Barclay and Perkins! Look at Truman,\nHanbury, and Buxton! It is on that extensive footing that Mr. Micawber,\nI know from my own knowledge of him, is calculated to shine; and the\nprofits, I am told, are e-NOR-MOUS! But if Mr. Micawber cannot get into\nthose firms--which decline to answer his letters, when he offers his\nservices even in an inferior capacity--what is the use of dwelling upon\nthat idea? None. I may have a conviction that Mr. Micawber's manners--'\n\n'Hem! Really, my dear,' interposed Mr. Micawber. 'My love, be silent,' said Mrs. Micawber, laying her brown glove on his\nhand. 'I may have a conviction, Mr. Copperfield, that Mr. Micawber's\nmanners peculiarly qualify him for the Banking business. I may argue\nwithin myself, that if I had a deposit at a banking-house, the manners\nof Mr. Micawber, as representing that banking-house, would inspire\nconfidence, and must extend the connexion. But if the various\nbanking-houses refuse to avail themselves of Mr. Micawber's abilities,\nor receive the offer of them with contumely, what is the use of dwelling\nupon THAT idea? None. As to originating a banking-business, I may know\nthat there are members of my family who, if they chose to place their\nmoney in Mr. Micawber's hands, might found an establishment of that\ndescription. But if they do NOT choose to place their money in Mr.\nMicawber's hands--which they don't--what is the use of that? Again I\ncontend that we are no farther advanced than we were before.' I shook my head, and said, 'Not a bit.' Traddles also shook his head,\nand said, 'Not a bit.' 'What do I deduce from this?' Mrs. Micawber went on to say, still with\nthe same air of putting a case lucidly. 'What is the conclusion, my\ndear Mr. Copperfield, to which I am irresistibly brought? Am I wrong in\nsaying, it is clear that we must live?' I answered 'Not at all!' and Traddles answered 'Not at all!' and I found\nmyself afterwards sagely adding, alone, that a person must either live\nor die. 'Just so,' returned Mrs. Micawber, 'It is precisely that. And the fact\nis, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that we can not live without something\nwidely different from existing circumstances shortly turning up. Now\nI am convinced, myself, and this I have pointed out to Mr. Micawber\nseveral times of late, that things cannot be expected to turn up of\nthemselves. We must, in a measure, assist to turn them up. I may be\nwrong, but I have formed that opinion.' Both Traddles and I applauded it highly. 'Very well,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'Then what do I recommend? Here is Mr.\nMicawber with a variety of qualifications--with great talent--'\n\n'Really, my love,' said Mr. Micawber. 'Pray, my dear, allow me to conclude. Here is Mr. Micawber, with a\nvariety of qualifications, with great talent--I should say, with genius,\nbut that may be the partiality of a wife--'\n\nTraddles and I both murmured 'No.' 'And here is Mr. Micawber without any suitable position or employment. Where does that responsibility rest? Clearly on society. Then I would\nmake a fact so disgraceful known, and boldly challenge society to set it\nright. It appears to me, my dear Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber,\nforcibly, 'that what Mr. Micawber has to do, is to throw down the\ngauntlet to society, and say, in effect, \"Show me who will take that up. Let the party immediately step forward.\"' I ventured to ask Mrs. Micawber how this was to be done. 'By advertising,' said Mrs. Micawber--'in all the papers. It appears to\nme, that what Mr. Micawber has to do, in justice to himself, in justice\nto his family, and I will even go so far as to say in justice to\nsociety, by which he has been hitherto overlooked, is to advertise in\nall the papers; to describe himself plainly as so-and-so, with such and\nsuch qualifications and to put it thus: \"Now employ me, on remunerative\nterms, and address, post-paid, to W. M., Post Office, Camden Town.\"' 'This idea of Mrs. Micawber's, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber,\nmaking his shirt-collar meet in front of his chin, and glancing at me\nsideways, 'is, in fact, the Leap to which I alluded, when I last had the\npleasure of seeing you.' 'Advertising is rather expensive,' I remarked, dubiously. 'Exactly so!' said Mrs. Micawber, preserving the same logical air. 'Quite true, my dear Mr. Copperfield! I have made the identical\nobservation to Mr. Micawber. It is for that reason especially, that I\nthink Mr. Micawber ought (as I have already said, in justice to himself,\nin justice to his family, and in justice to society) to raise a certain\nsum of money--on a bill.' Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair, trifled with his eye-glass\nand cast his eyes up at the ceiling; but I thought him observant of\nTraddles, too, who was looking at the fire. 'If no member of my family,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'is possessed of\nsufficient natural feeling to negotiate that bill--I believe there is a\nbetter business-term to express what I mean--'\n\nMr. Micawber, with his eyes still cast up at the ceiling, suggested\n'Discount.' 'To discount that bill,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'then my opinion is, that\nMr. Micawber should go into the City, should take that bill into the\nMoney Market, and should dispose of it for what he can get. If the\nindividuals in the Money Market oblige Mr. Micawber to sustain a great\nsacrifice, that is between themselves and their consciences. I view\nit, steadily, as an investment.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I recommend Mr. Micawber, my dear Mr.\nCopperfield, to do the same; to regard it as an investment which is sure\nof return, and to make up his mind to any sacrifice.' I felt, but I am sure I don't know why, that this was self-denying\nand devoted in Mrs. Micawber, and I uttered a murmur to that effect. Traddles, who took his tone from me, did likewise, still looking at the\nfire. 'I will not,' said Mrs. Micawber, finishing her punch, and gathering her\nscarf about her shoulders, preparatory to her withdrawal to my bedroom:\n'I will not protract these remarks on the subject of Mr. Micawber's\npecuniary affairs. At your fireside, my dear Mr. Copperfield, and in the\npresence of Mr. Traddles, who, though not so old a friend, is quite one\nof ourselves, I could not refrain from making you acquainted with the\ncourse I advise Mr. Micawber to take. I feel that the time is arrived\nwhen Mr. Micawber should exert himself and--I will add--assert himself,\nand it appears to me that these are the means. I am aware that I am\nmerely a female, and that a masculine judgement is usually considered\nmore competent to the discussion of such questions; still I must not\nforget that, when I lived at home with my papa and mama, my papa was in\nthe habit of saying, \"Emma's form is fragile, but her grasp of a subject\nis inferior to none.\" That my papa was too partial, I well know; but\nthat he was an observer of character in some degree, my duty and my\nreason equally forbid me to doubt.' With these words, and resisting our entreaties that she would grace\nthe remaining circulation of the punch with her presence, Mrs. Micawber\nretired to my bedroom. And really I felt that she was a noble woman--the\nsort of woman who might have been a Roman matron, and done all manner of\nheroic things, in times of public trouble. In the fervour of this impression, I congratulated Mr. Micawber on the\ntreasure he possessed. So did Traddles. Mr. Micawber extended his\nhand to each of us in succession, and then covered his face with his\npocket-handkerchief, which I think had more snuff upon it than he\nwas aware of. He then returned to the punch, in the highest state of\nexhilaration. He was full of eloquence. He gave us to understand that in our children\nwe lived again, and that, under the pressure of pecuniary difficulties,\nany accession to their number was doubly welcome. He said that Mrs.\nMicawber had latterly had her doubts on this point, but that he had\ndispelled them, and reassured her. As to her family, they were totally\nunworthy of her, and their sentiments were utterly indifferent to him,\nand they might--I quote his own expression--go to the Devil. Mr. Micawber then delivered a warm eulogy on Traddles. He said\nTraddles's was a character, to the steady virtues of which he (Mr.\nMicawber) could lay no claim, but which, he thanked Heaven, he could\nadmire. He feelingly alluded to the young lady, unknown, whom Traddles\nhad honoured with his affection, and who had reciprocated that affection\nby honouring and blessing Traddles with her affection. Mr. Micawber\npledged her. So did I. Traddles thanked us both, by saying, with a\nsimplicity and honesty I had sense enough to be quite charmed with,\n'I am very much obliged to you indeed. And I do assure you, she's the\ndearest girl!--'\n\nMr. Micawber took an early opportunity, after that, of hinting, with the\nutmost delicacy and ceremony, at the state of my affections. Nothing\nbut the serious assurance of his friend Copperfield to the contrary,\nhe observed, could deprive him of the impression that his friend\nCopperfield loved and was beloved. After feeling very hot and\nuncomfortable for some time, and after a good deal of blushing,\nstammering, and denying, I said, having my glass in my hand, 'Well! I\nwould give them D.!' which so excited and gratified Mr. Micawber,\nthat he ran with a glass of punch into my bedroom, in order that Mrs.\nMicawber might drink D., who drank it with enthusiasm, crying from\nwithin, in a shrill voice, 'Hear, hear! My dear Mr. Copperfield, I am\ndelighted. Hear!' and tapping at the wall, by way of applause. Our conversation, afterwards, took a more worldly turn; Mr. Micawber\ntelling us that he found Camden Town inconvenient, and that the first\nthing he contemplated doing, when the advertisement should have been the\ncause of something satisfactory turning up, was to move. He mentioned\na terrace at the western end of Oxford Street, fronting Hyde Park, on\nwhich he had always had his eye, but which he did not expect to attain\nimmediately, as it would require a large establishment. There would\nprobably be an interval, he explained, in which he should content\nhimself with the upper part of a house, over some respectable place of\nbusiness--say in Piccadilly,--which would be a cheerful situation for\nMrs. Micawber; and where, by throwing out a bow-window, or carrying up\nthe roof another story, or making some little alteration of that sort,\nthey might live, comfortably and reputably, for a few years. Whatever\nwas reserved for him, he expressly said, or wherever his abode might be,\nwe might rely on this--there would always be a room for Traddles, and a\nknife and fork for me. We acknowledged his kindness; and he begged us\nto forgive his having launched into these practical and business-like\ndetails, and to excuse it as natural in one who was making entirely new\narrangements in life. Mrs. Micawber, tapping at the wall again to know if tea were ready,\nbroke up this particular phase of our friendly conversation. She made\ntea for us in a most agreeable manner; and, whenever I went near her, in\nhanding about the tea-cups and bread-and-butter, asked me, in a whisper,\nwhether D. was fair, or dark, or whether she was short, or tall: or\nsomething of that kind; which I think I liked. After tea, we discussed a\nvariety of topics before the fire; and Mrs. Micawber was good enough\nto sing us (in a small, thin, flat voice, which I remembered to have\nconsidered, when I first knew her, the very table-beer of acoustics) the\nfavourite ballads of 'The Dashing White Sergeant', and 'Little Tafflin'. For both of these songs Mrs. Micawber had been famous when she lived at\nhome with her papa and mama. Mr. Micawber told us, that when he heard\nher sing the first one, on the first occasion of his seeing her beneath\nthe parental roof, she had attracted his attention in an extraordinary\ndegree; but that when it came to Little Tafflin, he had resolved to win\nthat woman or perish in the attempt. It was between ten and eleven o'clock when Mrs. Micawber rose to replace\nher cap in the whitey-brown paper parcel, and to put on her bonnet. Mr.\nMicawber took the opportunity of Traddles putting on his great-coat, to\nslip a letter into my hand, with a whispered request that I would read\nit at my leisure. I also took the opportunity of my holding a candle\nover the banisters to light them down, when Mr. Micawber was going\nfirst, leading Mrs. Micawber, and Traddles was following with the cap,\nto detain Traddles for a moment on the top of the stairs. 'Traddles,' said I, 'Mr. Micawber don't mean any harm, poor fellow: but,\nif I were you, I wouldn't lend him anything.' 'My dear Copperfield,' returned Traddles, smiling, 'I haven't got\nanything to lend.' 'You have got a name, you know,' said I. 'Oh! You call THAT something to lend?' returned Traddles, with a\nthoughtful look. 'Certainly.' 'Oh!' said Traddles. 'Yes, to be sure! I am very much obliged to you,\nCopperfield; but--I am afraid I have lent him that already.' 'For the bill that is to be a certain investment?' I inquired. 'No,' said Traddles. 'Not for that one. This is the first I have heard\nof that one. I have been thinking that he will most likely propose that\none, on the way home. Mine's another.' 'I hope there will be nothing wrong about it,' said I. 'I hope not,'\nsaid Traddles.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-10 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'I should think not, though, because he told me, only the\nother day, that it was provided for. That was Mr. Micawber's expression,\n\"Provided for.\"' Mr. Micawber looking up at this juncture to where we were standing, I\nhad only time to repeat my caution. Traddles thanked me, and descended. But I was much afraid, when I observed the good-natured manner in which\nhe went down with the cap in his hand, and gave Mrs. Micawber his arm,\nthat he would be carried into the Money Market neck and heels. I returned to my fireside, and was musing, half gravely and half\nlaughing, on the character of Mr. Micawber and the old relations between\nus, when I heard a quick step ascending the stairs. At first, I thought\nit was Traddles coming back for something Mrs. Micawber had left behind;\nbut as the step approached, I knew it, and felt my heart beat high, and\nthe blood rush to my face, for it was Steerforth's. I was never unmindful of Agnes, and she never left that sanctuary in my\nthoughts--if I may call it so--where I had placed her from the first. But when he entered, and stood before me with his hand out, the darkness\nthat had fallen on him changed to light, and I felt confounded and\nashamed of having doubted one I loved so heartily. I loved her none the\nless; I thought of her as the same benignant, gentle angel in my life; I\nreproached myself, not her, with having done him an injury; and I would\nhave made him any atonement if I had known what to make, and how to make\nit. 'Why, Daisy, old boy, dumb-foundered!' laughed Steerforth, shaking\nmy hand heartily, and throwing it gaily away. 'Have I detected you in\nanother feast, you Sybarite! These Doctors' Commons fellows are the\ngayest men in town, I believe, and beat us sober Oxford people all to\nnothing!' His bright glance went merrily round the room, as he took\nthe seat on the sofa opposite to me, which Mrs. Micawber had recently\nvacated, and stirred the fire into a blaze. 'I was so surprised at first,' said I, giving him welcome with all\nthe cordiality I felt, 'that I had hardly breath to greet you with,\nSteerforth.' 'Well, the sight of me is good for sore eyes, as the Scotch say,'\nreplied Steerforth, 'and so is the sight of you, Daisy, in full bloom. How are you, my Bacchanal?' 'I am very well,' said I; 'and not at all Bacchanalian tonight, though I\nconfess to another party of three.' 'All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise,' returned\nSteerforth. 'Who's our friend in the tights?' I gave him the best idea I could, in a few words, of Mr. Micawber. He\nlaughed heartily at my feeble portrait of that gentleman, and said he\nwas a man to know, and he must know him. 'But who do you suppose our\nother friend is?' said I, in my turn. 'Heaven knows,' said Steerforth. 'Not a bore, I hope? I thought he\nlooked a little like one.' 'Traddles!' I replied, triumphantly. 'Who's he?' asked Steerforth, in his careless way. 'Don't you remember Traddles? Traddles in our room at Salem House?' 'Oh! That fellow!' said Steerforth, beating a lump of coal on the top\nof the fire, with the poker. 'Is he as soft as ever? And where the deuce\ndid you pick him up?' I extolled Traddles in reply, as highly as I could; for I felt that\nSteerforth rather slighted him. Steerforth, dismissing the subject with\na light nod, and a smile, and the remark that he would be glad to see\nthe old fellow too, for he had always been an odd fish, inquired if I\ncould give him anything to eat? During most of this short dialogue, when\nhe had not been speaking in a wild vivacious manner, he had sat idly\nbeating on the lump of coal with the poker. I observed that he did the\nsame thing while I was getting out the remains of the pigeon-pie, and so\nforth. 'Why, Daisy, here's a supper for a king!' he exclaimed, starting out of\nhis silence with a burst, and taking his seat at the table. 'I shall do\nit justice, for I have come from Yarmouth.' 'I thought you came from Oxford?' I returned. 'Not I,' said Steerforth. 'I have been seafaring--better employed.' 'Littimer was here today, to inquire for you,' I remarked, 'and I\nunderstood him that you were at Oxford; though, now I think of it, he\ncertainly did not say so.' 'Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been inquiring\nfor me at all,' said Steerforth, jovially pouring out a glass of wine,\nand drinking to me. 'As to understanding him, you are a cleverer fellow\nthan most of us, Daisy, if you can do that.' 'That's true, indeed,' said I, moving my chair to the table. 'So you\nhave been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!' interested to know all about it. 'Have you been there long?' 'No,' he returned. 'An escapade of a week or so.' 'And how are they all? Of course, little Emily is not married yet?' 'Not yet. Going to be, I believe--in so many weeks, or months, or\nsomething or other. I have not seen much of 'em. By the by'; he laid\ndown his knife and fork, which he had been using with great diligence,\nand began feeling in his pockets; 'I have a letter for you.' 'From whom?' 'Why, from your old nurse,' he returned, taking some papers out of his\nbreast pocket. \"'J. Steerforth, Esquire, debtor, to The Willing\nMind\"; that's not it. Patience, and we'll find it presently. Old\nwhat's-his-name's in a bad way, and it's about that, I believe.' 'Barkis, do you mean?' 'Yes!' still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their contents:\n'it's all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid. I saw a little apothecary\nthere--surgeon, or whatever he is--who brought your worship into the\nworld. He was mighty learned about the case, to me; but the upshot of\nhis opinion was, that the carrier was making his last journey rather\nfast.---Put your hand into the breast pocket of my great-coat on the\nchair yonder, and I think you'll find the letter. Is it there?' 'Here it is!' said I. 'That's right!' It was from Peggotty; something less legible than usual, and brief. It\ninformed me of her husband's hopeless state, and hinted at his being\n'a little nearer' than heretofore, and consequently more difficult\nto manage for his own comfort. It said nothing of her weariness\nand watching, and praised him highly. It was written with a plain,\nunaffected, homely piety that I knew to be genuine, and ended with 'my\nduty to my ever darling'--meaning myself. While I deciphered it, Steerforth continued to eat and drink. 'It's a bad job,' he said, when I had done; 'but the sun sets every day,\nand people die every minute, and we mustn't be scared by the common lot. If we failed to hold our own, because that equal foot at all men's doors\nwas heard knocking somewhere, every object in this world would slip from\nus. No! Ride on! Rough-shod if need be, smooth-shod if that will do, but\nride on! Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!' 'And win what race?' said I. 'The race that one has started in,' said he. 'Ride on!' I noticed, I remember, as he paused, looking at me with his handsome\nhead a little thrown back, and his glass raised in his hand, that,\nthough the freshness of the sea-wind was on his face, and it was ruddy,\nthere were traces in it, made since I last saw it, as if he had applied\nhimself to some habitual strain of the fervent energy which, when\nroused, was so passionately roused within him.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-10, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I had it in my thoughts\nto remonstrate with him upon his desperate way of pursuing any fancy\nthat he took--such as this buffeting of rough seas, and braving of hard\nweather, for example--when my mind glanced off to the immediate subject\nof our conversation again, and pursued that instead. 'I tell you what, Steerforth,' said I, 'if your high spirits will listen\nto me--'\n\n'They are potent spirits, and will do whatever you like,' he answered,\nmoving from the table to the fireside again. 'Then I tell you what, Steerforth. I think I will go down and see my\nold nurse. It is not that I can do her any good, or render her any real\nservice; but she is so attached to me that my visit will have as much\neffect on her, as if I could do both. She will take it so kindly that it\nwill be a comfort and support to her. It is no great effort to make,\nI am sure, for such a friend as she has been to me. Wouldn't you go a\nday's journey, if you were in my place?' His face was thoughtful, and he sat considering a little before he\nanswered, in a low voice, 'Well! Go. You can do no harm.' 'You have just come back,' said I, 'and it would be in vain to ask you\nto go with me?' 'Quite,' he returned. 'I am for Highgate tonight. I have not seen\nmy mother this long time, and it lies upon my conscience, for\nit's something to be loved as she loves her prodigal son.---Bah! Nonsense!--You mean to go tomorrow, I suppose?' he said, holding me out\nat arm's length, with a hand on each of my shoulders. 'Yes, I think so.' 'Well, then, don't go till next day. I wanted you to come and stay a\nfew days with us. Here I am, on purpose to bid you, and you fly off to\nYarmouth!' 'You are a nice fellow to talk of flying off, Steerforth, who are always\nrunning wild on some unknown expedition or other!' He looked at me for a moment without speaking, and then rejoined, still\nholding me as before, and giving me a shake:\n\n'Come! Say the next day, and pass as much of tomorrow as you can with\nus! Who knows when we may meet again, else? Come! Say the next day! I\nwant you to stand between Rosa Dartle and me, and keep us asunder.' 'Would you love each other too much, without me?' 'Yes; or hate,' laughed Steerforth; 'no matter which. Come! Say the next\nday!' I said the next day; and he put on his great-coat and lighted his cigar,\nand set off to walk home. Finding him in this intention, I put on my own\ngreat-coat (but did not light my own cigar, having had enough of that\nfor one while) and walked with him as far as the open road: a dull road,\nthen, at night. He was in great spirits all the way; and when we parted,\nand I looked after him going so gallantly and airily homeward, I thought\nof his saying, 'Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!' and\nwished, for the first time, that he had some worthy race to run. I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber's letter tumbled on\nthe floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke the seal and read as follows. It\nwas dated an hour and a half before dinner. I am not sure whether I\nhave mentioned that, when Mr. Micawber was at any particularly desperate\ncrisis, he used a sort of legal phraseology, which he seemed to think\nequivalent to winding up his affairs. 'SIR--for I dare not say my dear Copperfield,\n\n'It is expedient that I should inform you that the undersigned is\nCrushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the premature knowledge of\nhis calamitous position, you may observe in him this day; but hope has\nsunk beneath the horizon, and the undersigned is Crushed. 'The present communication is penned within the personal range (I cannot\ncall it the society) of an individual, in a state closely bordering\non intoxication, employed by a broker. That individual is in legal\npossession of the premises, under a distress for rent. His inventory\nincludes, not only the chattels and effects of every description\nbelonging to the undersigned, as yearly tenant of this habitation, but\nalso those appertaining to Mr. Thomas Traddles, lodger, a member of the\nHonourable Society of the Inner Temple. 'If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing cup, which is now\n\"commended\" (in the language of an immortal Writer) to the lips of the\nundersigned, it would be found in the fact, that a friendly acceptance\ngranted to the undersigned, by the before-mentioned Mr. Thomas Traddles,\nfor the sum Of 23l 4s 9 1/2d is over due, and is NOT provided for. Also,\nin the fact that the living responsibilities clinging to the undersigned\nwill, in the course of nature, be increased by the sum of one more\nhelpless victim; whose miserable appearance may be looked for--in round\nnumbers--at the expiration of a period not exceeding six lunar months\nfrom the present date. 'After premising thus much, it would be a work of supererogation to add,\nthat dust and ashes are for ever scattered\n\n               'On\n                    'The\n                         'Head\n                              'Of\n                                   'WILKINS MICAWBER.' Poor Traddles! I knew enough of Mr. Micawber by this time, to foresee\nthat he might be expected to recover the blow; but my night's rest was\nsorely distressed by thoughts of Traddles, and of the curate's daughter,\nwho was one of ten, down in Devonshire, and who was such a dear girl,\nand who would wait for Traddles (ominous praise!) until she was sixty,\nor any age that could be mentioned.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-11", "answer": "Mr. Micawber, Mrs. Micawber, Traddles, David, Mrs. Crupp, Steerforth, Littimer, Peggotty, Mr. Barkis, dinner party, David's apartment, undercooked dinner, re-cooking meat, brewing business prospects, lending name, credit, debt, skepticism, seafaring, Yarmouth, Steerforth's mother's house, letter from Peggotty, Mr. Barkis ill, dying, obstacles, win the race, friendship, financial trouble, trust, deception, uncomfortable meal, letter from Mr. Micawber"}]