["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> There was a servant in that house, a man who, I understood, was usually\nwith Steerforth, and had come into his service at the University, who\nwas in appearance a pattern of respectability. I believe there never\nexisted in his station a more respectable-looking man. He was taciturn,\nsoft-footed, very quiet in his manner, deferential, observant, always at\nhand when wanted, and never near when not wanted; but his great claim to\nconsideration was his respectability. He had not a pliant face, he had\nrather a stiff neck, rather a tight smooth head with short hair clinging\nto it at the sides, a soft way of speaking, with a peculiar habit of\nwhispering the letter S so distinctly, that he seemed to use it\noftener than any other man; but every peculiarity that he had he made\nrespectable. If his nose had been upside-down, he would have made that\nrespectable. He surrounded himself with an atmosphere of respectability,\nand walked secure in it. It would have been next to impossible to\nsuspect him of anything wrong, he was so thoroughly respectable. Nobody could have thought of putting him in a livery, he was so highly\nrespectable. To have imposed any derogatory work upon him, would have\nbeen to inflict a wanton insult on the feelings of a most respectable\nman. And of this, I noticed--the women-servants in the household were\nso intuitively conscious, that they always did such work themselves, and\ngenerally while he read the paper by the pantry fire. Such a self-contained man I never saw. But in that quality, as in every\nother he possessed, he only seemed to be the more respectable. Even the\nfact that no one knew his Christian name, seemed to form a part of his\nrespectability. Nothing could be objected against his surname, Littimer,\nby which he was known. Peter might have been hanged, or Tom transported;\nbut Littimer was perfectly respectable. It was occasioned, I suppose, by the reverend nature of respectability\nin the abstract, but I felt particularly young in this man's presence. How old he was himself, I could not guess--and that again went to his\ncredit on the same score; for in the calmness of respectability he might\nhave numbered fifty years as well as thirty. Littimer was in my room in the morning before I was up, to bring me that\nreproachful shaving-water, and to put out my clothes. When I undrew the\ncurtains and looked out of bed, I saw him, in an equable temperature\nof respectability, unaffected by the east wind of January, and not\neven breathing frostily, standing my boots right and left in the first\ndancing position, and blowing specks of dust off my coat as he laid it\ndown like a baby. I gave him good morning, and asked him what o'clock it was. He took\nout of his pocket the most respectable hunting-watch I ever saw, and\npreventing the spring with his thumb from opening far, looked in at the\nface as if he were consulting an oracular oyster, shut it up again, and\nsaid, if I pleased, it was half past eight. 'Mr. Steerforth will be glad to hear how you have rested, sir.' 'Thank you,' said I, 'very well indeed. Is Mr. Steerforth quite well?' 'Thank you, sir, Mr. Steerforth is tolerably well.' Another of his\ncharacteristics--no use of superlatives. A cool calm medium always. 'Is there anything more I can have the honour of doing for you, sir? The\nwarning-bell will ring at nine; the family take breakfast at half past\nnine.' 'Nothing, I thank you.' 'I thank YOU, sir, if you please'; and with that, and with a little\ninclination of his head when he passed the bed-side, as an apology for\ncorrecting me, he went out, shutting the door as delicately as if I had\njust fallen into a sweet sleep on which my life depended. Every morning we held exactly this conversation: never any more, and\nnever any less: and yet, invariably, however far I might have been\nlifted out of myself over-night, and advanced towards maturer years,\nby Steerforth's companionship, or Mrs. Steerforth's confidence, or Miss\nDartle's conversation, in the presence of this most respectable man I\nbecame, as our smaller poets sing, 'a boy again'. He got horses for us; and Steerforth, who knew everything, gave me\nlessons in riding. He provided foils for us, and Steerforth gave me\nlessons in fencing--gloves, and I began, of the same master, to improve\nin boxing. It gave me no manner of concern that Steerforth should find\nme a novice in these sciences, but I never could bear to show my want of\nskill before the respectable Littimer. I had no reason to believe\nthat Littimer understood such arts himself; he never led me to suppose\nanything of the kind, by so much as the vibration of one of his\nrespectable eyelashes; yet whenever he was by, while we were practising,\nI felt myself the greenest and most inexperienced of mortals. I am particular about this man, because he made a particular effect on\nme at that time, and because of what took place thereafter. The week passed away in a most delightful manner. It passed rapidly, as\nmay be supposed, to one entranced as I was; and yet it gave me so many\noccasions for knowing Steerforth better, and admiring him more in a\nthousand respects, that at its close I seemed to have been with him\nfor a much longer time. A dashing way he had of treating me like a\nplaything, was more agreeable to me than any behaviour he could have\nadopted. It reminded me of our old acquaintance; it seemed the natural\nsequel of it; it showed me that he was unchanged; it relieved me of\nany uneasiness I might have felt, in comparing my merits with his, and\nmeasuring my claims upon his friendship by any equal standard; above\nall, it was a familiar, unrestrained, affectionate demeanour that he\nused towards no one else. As he had treated me at school differently\nfrom all the rest, I joyfully believed that he treated me in life unlike\nany other friend he had. I believed that I was nearer to his heart than\nany other friend, and my own heart warmed with attachment to him. He\nmade up his mind to go with me into the country, and the day arrived for\nour departure. He had been doubtful at first whether to take Littimer\nor not, but decided to leave him at home. The respectable creature,\nsatisfied with his lot whatever it was, arranged our portmanteaux on\nthe little carriage that was to take us into London, as if they were\nintended to defy the shocks of ages, and received my modestly proffered\ndonation with perfect tranquillity. We bade adieu to Mrs. Steerforth and Miss Dartle, with many thanks on\nmy part, and much kindness on the devoted mother's. The last thing I\nsaw was Littimer's unruffled eye; fraught, as I fancied, with the silent\nconviction that I was very young indeed. What I felt, in returning so auspiciously to the old familiar places,\nI shall not endeavour to describe. We went down by the Mail. I was\nso concerned, I recollect, even for the honour of Yarmouth, that when\nSteerforth said, as we drove through its dark streets to the inn, that,\nas well as he could make out, it was a good, queer, out-of-the-way kind\nof hole, I was highly pleased. We went to bed on our arrival (I observed\na pair of dirty shoes and gaiters in connexion with my old friend the\nDolphin as we passed that door), and breakfasted late in the morning. Steerforth, who was in great spirits, had been strolling about the\nbeach before I was up, and had made acquaintance, he said, with half the\nboatmen in the place. Moreover, he had seen, in the distance, what he\nwas sure must be the identical house of Mr. Peggotty, with smoke coming\nout of the chimney; and had had a great mind, he told me, to walk in and\nswear he was myself grown out of knowledge. 'When do you propose to introduce me there, Daisy?' he said. 'I am at\nyour disposal. Make your own arrangements.' 'Why, I was thinking that this evening would be a good time, Steerforth,\nwhen they are all sitting round the fire. I should like you to see it\nwhen it's snug, it's such a curious place.' 'So be it!' returned Steerforth. 'This evening.' 'I shall not give them any notice that we are here, you know,' said I,\ndelighted. 'We must take them by surprise.' 'Oh, of course!\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 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> It's no fun,' said Steerforth, 'unless we take them by\nsurprise. Let us see the natives in their aboriginal condition.' 'Though they ARE that sort of people that you mentioned,' I returned. 'Aha! What! you recollect my skirmishes with Rosa, do you?' he exclaimed\nwith a quick look. 'Confound the girl, I am half afraid of her. She's\nlike a goblin to me. But never mind her. Now what are you going to do? You are going to see your nurse, I suppose?' 'Why, yes,' I said, 'I must see Peggotty first of all.' 'Well,' replied Steerforth, looking at his watch. 'Suppose I deliver you\nup to be cried over for a couple of hours. Is that long enough?' I answered, laughing, that I thought we might get through it in that\ntime, but that he must come also; for he would find that his renown had\npreceded him, and that he was almost as great a personage as I was. 'I'll come anywhere you like,' said Steerforth, 'or do anything you\nlike. Tell me where to come to; and in two hours I'll produce myself in\nany state you please, sentimental or comical.' I gave him minute directions for finding the residence of Mr. Barkis,\ncarrier to Blunderstone and elsewhere; and, on this understanding, went\nout alone. There was a sharp bracing air; the ground was dry; the sea\nwas crisp and clear; the sun was diffusing abundance of light, if not\nmuch warmth; and everything was fresh and lively. I was so fresh and\nlively myself, in the pleasure of being there, that I could have stopped\nthe people in the streets and shaken hands with them. The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we have only seen\nas children always do, I believe, when we go back to them. But I had\nforgotten nothing in them, and found nothing changed, until I came to\nMr. Omer's shop. OMER AND Joram was now written up, where OMER used to\nbe; but the inscription, DRAPER, TAILOR, HABERDASHER, FUNERAL FURNISHER,\n&c., remained as it was. My footsteps seemed to tend so naturally to the shop door, after I had\nread these words from over the way, that I went across the road and\nlooked in. There was a pretty woman at the back of the shop, dancing\na little child in her arms, while another little fellow clung to her\napron. I had no difficulty in recognizing either Minnie or Minnie's\nchildren. The glass door of the parlour was not open; but in the\nworkshop across the yard I could faintly hear the old tune playing, as\nif it had never left off. 'Is Mr. Omer at home?' said I, entering. 'I should like to see him, for\na moment, if he is.' 'Oh yes, sir, he is at home,' said Minnie; 'the weather don't suit his\nasthma out of doors. Joe, call your grandfather!' The little fellow, who was holding her apron, gave such a lusty shout,\nthat the sound of it made him bashful, and he buried his face in her\nskirts, to her great admiration. I heard a heavy puffing and blowing\ncoming towards us, and soon Mr. Omer, shorter-winded than of yore, but\nnot much older-looking, stood before me. 'Servant, sir,' said Mr. Omer. 'What can I do for you, sir?' 'You can\nshake hands with me, Mr. Omer, if you please,' said I, putting out my\nown. 'You were very good-natured to me once, when I am afraid I didn't\nshow that I thought so.' 'Was I though?' returned the old man. 'I'm glad to hear it, but I don't\nremember when. Are you sure it was me?' 'Quite.' 'I think my memory has got as short as my breath,' said Mr. Omer,\nlooking at me and shaking his head; 'for I don't remember you.' 'Don't you remember your coming to the coach to meet me, and my having\nbreakfast here, and our riding out to Blunderstone together: you, and I,\nand Mrs. Joram, and Mr. Joram too--who wasn't her husband then?' 'Why, Lord bless my soul!' exclaimed Mr. Omer, after being thrown by his\nsurprise into a fit of coughing, 'you don't say so! Minnie, my dear, you\nrecollect? Dear me, yes; the party was a lady, I think?' 'My mother,' I rejoined. 'To--be--sure,' said Mr. Omer, touching my waistcoat with his\nforefinger, 'and there was a little child too! There was two parties. The little party was laid along with the other party. Over at\nBlunderstone it was, of course. Dear me! And how have you been since?' Very well, I thanked him, as I hoped he had been too. 'Oh! nothing to grumble at, you know,' said Mr. Omer. 'I find my breath\ngets short, but it seldom gets longer as a man gets older. I take it as\nit comes, and make the most of it. That's the best way, ain't it?' Mr. Omer coughed again, in consequence of laughing, and was assisted out\nof his fit by his daughter, who now stood close beside us, dancing her\nsmallest child on the counter. 'Dear me!' said Mr. Omer. 'Yes, to be sure. Two parties! Why, in that\nvery ride, if you'll believe me, the day was named for my Minnie to\nmarry Joram. \"Do name it, sir,\" says Joram. \"Yes, do, father,\" says\nMinnie. And now he's come into the business. And look here! The\nyoungest!' Minnie laughed, and stroked her banded hair upon her temples, as her\nfather put one of his fat fingers into the hand of the child she was\ndancing on the counter. 'Two parties, of course!' said Mr. Omer, nodding his head\nretrospectively. 'Ex-actly so! And Joram's at work, at this minute, on\na grey one with silver nails, not this measurement'--the measurement of\nthe dancing child upon the counter--'by a good two inches.---Will you\ntake something?' I thanked him, but declined. 'Let me see,' said Mr. Omer. 'Barkis's the carrier's wife--Peggotty's\nthe boatman's sister--she had something to do with your family? She was\nin service there, sure?' My answering in the affirmative gave him great satisfaction. 'I believe my breath will get long next, my memory's getting so much\nso,' said Mr. Omer. 'Well, sir, we've got a young relation of hers here,\nunder articles to us, that has as elegant a taste in the dress-making\nbusiness--I assure you I don't believe there's a Duchess in England can\ntouch her.' 'Not little Em'ly?' said I, involuntarily. 'Em'ly's her name,' said Mr. Omer, 'and she's little too. But if you'll\nbelieve me, she has such a face of her own that half the women in this\ntown are mad against her.' 'Nonsense, father!' cried Minnie. 'My dear,' said Mr. Omer, 'I don't say it's the case with you,' winking\nat me, 'but I say that half the women in Yarmouth--ah! and in five mile\nround--are mad against that girl.' 'Then she should have kept to her own station in life, father,' said\nMinnie, 'and not have given them any hold to talk about her, and then\nthey couldn't have done it.' 'Couldn't have done it, my dear!' retorted Mr. Omer. 'Couldn't have\ndone it! Is that YOUR knowledge of life? What is there that any woman\ncouldn't do, that she shouldn't do--especially on the subject of another\nwoman's good looks?' I really thought it was all over with Mr. Omer, after he had uttered\nthis libellous pleasantry. He coughed to that extent, and his breath\neluded all his attempts to recover it with that obstinacy, that I fully\nexpected to see his head go down behind the counter, and his little\nblack breeches, with the rusty little bunches of ribbons at the knees,\ncome quivering up in a last ineffectual struggle. At length, however,\nhe got better, though he still panted hard, and was so exhausted that he\nwas obliged to sit on the stool of the shop-desk.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-03, 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> 'You see,' he said, wiping his head, and breathing with difficulty, 'she\nhasn't taken much to any companions here; she hasn't taken kindly to\nany particular acquaintances and friends, not to mention sweethearts. In\nconsequence, an ill-natured story got about, that Em'ly wanted to be a\nlady. Now my opinion is, that it came into circulation principally on\naccount of her sometimes saying, at the school, that if she was a lady\nshe would like to do so-and-so for her uncle--don't you see?--and buy\nhim such-and-such fine things.' 'I assure you, Mr. Omer, she has said so to me,' I returned eagerly,\n'when we were both children.' Mr. Omer nodded his head and rubbed his chin. 'Just so. Then out of a\nvery little, she could dress herself, you see, better than most others\ncould out of a deal, and that made things unpleasant. Moreover, she was\nrather what might be called wayward--I'll go so far as to say what I\nshould call wayward myself,' said Mr. Omer; '--didn't know her own mind\nquite--a little spoiled--and couldn't, at first, exactly bind herself\ndown. No more than that was ever said against her, Minnie?' 'No, father,' said Mrs. Joram. 'That's the worst, I believe.' 'So when she got a situation,' said Mr. Omer, 'to keep a fractious old\nlady company, they didn't very well agree, and she didn't stop. At last\nshe came here, apprenticed for three years. Nearly two of 'em are over,\nand she has been as good a girl as ever was. Worth any six! Minnie, is\nshe worth any six, now?' 'Yes, father,' replied Minnie. 'Never say I detracted from her!' 'Very good,' said Mr. Omer. 'That's right. And so, young gentleman,' he\nadded, after a few moments' further rubbing of his chin, 'that you may\nnot consider me long-winded as well as short-breathed, I believe that's\nall about it.' As they had spoken in a subdued tone, while speaking of Em'ly, I had no\ndoubt that she was near. On my asking now, if that were not so, Mr.\nOmer nodded yes, and nodded towards the door of the parlour. My hurried\ninquiry if I might peep in, was answered with a free permission; and,\nlooking through the glass, I saw her sitting at her work. I saw her, a\nmost beautiful little creature, with the cloudless blue eyes, that had\nlooked into my childish heart, turned laughingly upon another child\nof Minnie's who was playing near her; with enough of wilfulness in her\nbright face to justify what I had heard; with much of the old capricious\ncoyness lurking in it; but with nothing in her pretty looks, I am sure,\nbut what was meant for goodness and for happiness, and what was on a\ngood and happy course. The tune across the yard that seemed as if it never had left off--alas! it was the tune that never DOES leave off--was beating, softly, all the\nwhile. 'Wouldn't you like to step in,' said Mr. Omer, 'and speak to her? Walk\nin and speak to her, sir! Make yourself at home!' I was too bashful to do so then--I was afraid of confusing her, and I\nwas no less afraid of confusing myself.--but I informed myself of the\nhour at which she left of an evening, in order that our visit might\nbe timed accordingly; and taking leave of Mr. Omer, and his pretty\ndaughter, and her little children, went away to my dear old Peggotty's. Here she was, in the tiled kitchen, cooking dinner! The moment I knocked\nat the door she opened it, and asked me what I pleased to want. I looked\nat her with a smile, but she gave me no smile in return. I had never\nceased to write to her, but it must have been seven years since we had\nmet. 'Is Mr. Barkis at home, ma'am?' I said, feigning to speak roughly to\nher. 'He's at home, sir,' returned Peggotty, 'but he's bad abed with the\nrheumatics.' 'Don't he go over to Blunderstone now?' I asked. 'When he's well he do,' she answered. 'Do YOU ever go there, Mrs. Barkis?' She looked at me more attentively, and I noticed a quick movement of her\nhands towards each other. 'Because I want to ask a question about a house there, that they call\nthe--what is it?--the Rookery,' said I. She took a step backward, and put out her hands in an undecided\nfrightened way, as if to keep me off. 'Peggotty!' I cried to her. She cried, 'My darling boy!' and we both burst into tears, and were\nlocked in one another's arms. What extravagances she committed; what laughing and crying over me; what\npride she showed, what joy, what sorrow that she whose pride and joy I\nmight have been, could never hold me in a fond embrace; I have not the\nheart to tell. I was troubled with no misgiving that it was young in\nme to respond to her emotions. I had never laughed and cried in all my\nlife, I dare say--not even to her--more freely than I did that morning. 'Barkis will be so glad,' said Peggotty, wiping her eyes with her apron,\n'that it'll do him more good than pints of liniment. May I go and tell\nhim you are here? Will you come up and see him, my dear?' Of course I would. But Peggotty could not get out of the room as easily\nas she meant to, for as often as she got to the door and looked round\nat me, she came back again to have another laugh and another cry upon my\nshoulder. At last, to make the matter easier, I went upstairs with\nher; and having waited outside for a minute, while she said a word of\npreparation to Mr. Barkis, presented myself before that invalid. He received me with absolute enthusiasm. He was too rheumatic to be\nshaken hands with, but he begged me to shake the tassel on the top of\nhis nightcap, which I did most cordially. When I sat down by the side\nof the bed, he said that it did him a world of good to feel as if he\nwas driving me on the Blunderstone road again. As he lay in bed, face\nupward, and so covered, with that exception, that he seemed to be\nnothing but a face--like a conventional cherubim--he looked the queerest\nobject I ever beheld. 'What name was it, as I wrote up in the cart, sir?' said Mr. Barkis,\nwith a slow rheumatic smile. 'Ah! Mr. Barkis, we had some grave talks about that matter, hadn't we?' 'I was willin' a long time, sir?' said Mr. Barkis. 'A long time,' said I. 'And I don't regret it,' said Mr. Barkis. 'Do you remember what you\ntold me once, about her making all the apple parsties and doing all the\ncooking?' 'Yes, very well,' I returned. 'It was as true,' said Mr. Barkis, 'as turnips is. It was as true,' said\nMr. Barkis, nodding his nightcap, which was his only means of emphasis,\n'as taxes is. And nothing's truer than them.' Mr. Barkis turned his eyes upon me, as if for my assent to this result\nof his reflections in bed; and I gave it. 'Nothing's truer than them,' repeated Mr. Barkis; 'a man as poor as I\nam, finds that out in his mind when he's laid up. I'm a very poor man,\nsir!' 'I am sorry to hear it, Mr. Barkis.' 'A very poor man, indeed I am,' said Mr. Barkis. Here his right hand came slowly and feebly from under the bedclothes,\nand with a purposeless uncertain grasp took hold of a stick which was\nloosely tied to the side of the bed. After some poking about with\nthis instrument, in the course of which his face assumed a variety of\ndistracted expressions, Mr. Barkis poked it against a box, an end\nof which had been visible to me all the time. Then his face became\ncomposed. 'Old clothes,' said Mr. Barkis. 'Oh!' said I. 'I wish it was Money, sir,' said Mr. Barkis. 'I wish it was, indeed,' said I. 'But it AIN'T,' said Mr. Barkis, opening both his eyes as wide as he\npossibly could.\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 2024-01-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I expressed myself quite sure of that, and Mr. Barkis, turning his eyes\nmore gently to his wife, said:\n\n'She's the usefullest and best of women, C. P. Barkis. All the praise\nthat anyone can give to C. P. Barkis, she deserves, and more! My dear,\nyou'll get a dinner today, for company; something good to eat and drink,\nwill you?' I should have protested against this unnecessary demonstration in\nmy honour, but that I saw Peggotty, on the opposite side of the bed,\nextremely anxious I should not. So I held my peace. 'I have got a trifle of money somewhere about me, my dear,' said Mr.\nBarkis, 'but I'm a little tired. If you and Mr. David will leave me for\na short nap, I'll try and find it when I wake.' We left the room, in compliance with this request. When we got outside\nthe door, Peggotty informed me that Mr. Barkis, being now 'a little\nnearer' than he used to be, always resorted to this same device before\nproducing a single coin from his store; and that he endured unheard-of\nagonies in crawling out of bed alone, and taking it from that unlucky\nbox. In effect, we presently heard him uttering suppressed groans of the\nmost dismal nature, as this magpie proceeding racked him in every joint;\nbut while Peggotty's eyes were full of compassion for him, she said his\ngenerous impulse would do him good, and it was better not to check it. So he groaned on, until he had got into bed again, suffering, I have no\ndoubt, a martyrdom; and then called us in, pretending to have just\nwoke up from a refreshing sleep, and to produce a guinea from under his\npillow. His satisfaction in which happy imposition on us, and in\nhaving preserved the impenetrable secret of the box, appeared to be a\nsufficient compensation to him for all his tortures. I prepared Peggotty for Steerforth's arrival and it was not long before\nhe came. I am persuaded she knew no difference between his having been a\npersonal benefactor of hers, and a kind friend to me, and that she would\nhave received him with the utmost gratitude and devotion in any case. But his easy, spirited good humour; his genial manner, his handsome\nlooks, his natural gift of adapting himself to whomsoever he pleased,\nand making direct, when he cared to do it, to the main point of interest\nin anybody's heart; bound her to him wholly in five minutes. His\nmanner to me, alone, would have won her. But, through all these causes\ncombined, I sincerely believe she had a kind of adoration for him before\nhe left the house that night. He stayed there with me to dinner--if I were to say willingly, I should\nnot half express how readily and gaily. He went into Mr. Barkis's room\nlike light and air, brightening and refreshing it as if he were healthy\nweather. There was no noise, no effort, no consciousness, in anything\nhe did; but in everything an indescribable lightness, a seeming\nimpossibility of doing anything else, or doing anything better, which\nwas so graceful, so natural, and agreeable, that it overcomes me, even\nnow, in the remembrance. We made merry in the little parlour, where the Book of Martyrs,\nunthumbed since my time, was laid out upon the desk as of old, and where\nI now turned over its terrific pictures, remembering the old sensations\nthey had awakened, but not feeling them. When Peggotty spoke of what\nshe called my room, and of its being ready for me at night, and of her\nhoping I would occupy it, before I could so much as look at Steerforth,\nhesitating, he was possessed of the whole case. 'Of course,' he said. 'You'll sleep here, while we stay, and I shall\nsleep at the hotel.' 'But to bring you so far,' I returned, 'and to separate, seems bad\ncompanionship, Steerforth.' 'Why, in the name of Heaven, where do you naturally belong?' he said. 'What is \"seems\", compared to that?' It was settled at once. He maintained all his delightful qualities to the last, until we started\nforth, at eight o'clock, for Mr. Peggotty's boat. Indeed, they were more\nand more brightly exhibited as the hours went on; for I thought even\nthen, and I have no doubt now, that the consciousness of success in his\ndetermination to please, inspired him with a new delicacy of perception,\nand made it, subtle as it was, more easy to him. If anyone had told me,\nthen, that all this was a brilliant game, played for the excitement of\nthe moment, for the employment of high spirits, in the thoughtless love\nof superiority, in a mere wasteful careless course of winning what was\nworthless to him, and next minute thrown away--I say, if anyone had told\nme such a lie that night, I wonder in what manner of receiving it my\nindignation would have found a vent! Probably only in an increase, had\nthat been possible, of the romantic feelings of fidelity and friendship\nwith which I walked beside him, over the dark wintry sands towards the\nold boat; the wind sighing around us even more mournfully, than it had\nsighed and moaned upon the night when I first darkened Mr. Peggotty's\ndoor. 'This is a wild kind of place, Steerforth, is it not?' 'Dismal enough in the dark,' he said: 'and the sea roars as if it were\nhungry for us. Is that the boat, where I see a light yonder?' 'That's\nthe boat,' said I. 'And it's the same I saw this morning,' he returned. 'I came straight to\nit, by instinct, I suppose.' We said no more as we approached the light, but made softly for the\ndoor. I laid my hand upon the latch; and whispering Steerforth to keep\nclose to me, went in. A murmur of voices had been audible on the outside, and, at the\nmoment of our entrance, a clapping of hands: which latter noise, I\nwas surprised to see, proceeded from the generally disconsolate Mrs.\nGummidge. But Mrs. Gummidge was not the only person there who was\nunusually excited. Mr. Peggotty, his face lighted up with uncommon\nsatisfaction, and laughing with all his might, held his rough arms\nwide open, as if for little Em'ly to run into them; Ham, with a mixed\nexpression in his face of admiration, exultation, and a lumbering sort\nof bashfulness that sat upon him very well, held little Em'ly by\nthe hand, as if he were presenting her to Mr. Peggotty; little Em'ly\nherself, blushing and shy, but delighted with Mr. Peggotty's delight, as\nher joyous eyes expressed, was stopped by our entrance (for she saw us\nfirst) in the very act of springing from Ham to nestle in Mr. Peggotty's\nembrace. In the first glimpse we had of them all, and at the moment of\nour passing from the dark cold night into the warm light room, this\nwas the way in which they were all employed: Mrs. Gummidge in the\nbackground, clapping her hands like a madwoman. The little picture was so instantaneously dissolved by our going in,\nthat one might have doubted whether it had ever been. I was in the midst\nof the astonished family, face to face with Mr. Peggotty, and holding\nout my hand to him, when Ham shouted:\n\n'Mas'r Davy! It's Mas'r Davy!' In a moment we were all shaking hands with one another, and asking one\nanother how we did, and telling one another how glad we were to meet,\nand all talking at once. Mr. Peggotty was so proud and overjoyed to see\nus, that he did not know what to say or do, but kept over and over again\nshaking hands with me, and then with Steerforth, and then with me, and\nthen ruffling his shaggy hair all over his head, and laughing with such\nglee and triumph, that it was a treat to see him. 'Why, that you two gent'lmen--gent'lmen growed--should come to this here\nroof tonight, of all nights in my life,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'is such a\nthing as never happened afore, I do rightly believe! Em'ly, my darling,\ncome here! Come here, my little witch! There's Mas'r Davy's friend, my\ndear! There's the gent'lman as you've heerd on, Em'ly. He comes to see\nyou, along with Mas'r Davy, on the brightest night of your uncle's life\nas ever was or will be, Gorm the t'other one, and horroar for it!'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-05, 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> After delivering this speech all in a breath, and with extraordinary\nanimation and pleasure, Mr. Peggotty put one of his large hands\nrapturously on each side of his niece's face, and kissing it a dozen\ntimes, laid it with a gentle pride and love upon his broad chest, and\npatted it as if his hand had been a lady's. Then he let her go; and as\nshe ran into the little chamber where I used to sleep, looked round upon\nus, quite hot and out of breath with his uncommon satisfaction. 'If you two gent'lmen--gent'lmen growed now, and such gent'lmen--' said\nMr. Peggotty. 'So th' are, so th' are!' cried Ham. 'Well said! So th' are. Mas'r Davy\nbor'--gent'lmen growed--so th' are!' 'If you two gent'lmen, gent'lmen growed,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'don't\nex-cuse me for being in a state of mind, when you understand matters,\nI'll arks your pardon. Em'ly, my dear!--She knows I'm a going to tell,'\nhere his delight broke out again, 'and has made off. Would you be so\ngood as look arter her, Mawther, for a minute?' Mrs. Gummidge nodded and disappeared. 'If this ain't,' said Mr. Peggotty, sitting down among us by the fire,\n'the brightest night o' my life, I'm a shellfish--biled too--and more I\ncan't say. This here little Em'ly, sir,' in a low voice to Steerforth,\n'--her as you see a blushing here just now--'\n\nSteerforth only nodded; but with such a pleased expression of interest,\nand of participation in Mr. Peggotty's feelings, that the latter\nanswered him as if he had spoken. 'To be sure,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'That's her, and so she is. Thankee,\nsir.' Ham nodded to me several times, as if he would have said so too. 'This here little Em'ly of ours,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'has been, in our\nhouse, what I suppose (I'm a ignorant man, but that's my belief) no one\nbut a little bright-eyed creetur can be in a house. She ain't my\nchild; I never had one; but I couldn't love her more. You understand! I\ncouldn't do it!' 'I quite understand,' said Steerforth. 'I know you do, sir,' returned Mr. Peggotty, 'and thankee again. Mas'r\nDavy, he can remember what she was; you may judge for your own self what\nshe is; but neither of you can't fully know what she has been, is, and\nwill be, to my loving art. I am rough, sir,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'I am as\nrough as a Sea Porkypine; but no one, unless, mayhap, it is a woman, can\nknow, I think, what our little Em'ly is to me. And betwixt ourselves,'\nsinking his voice lower yet, 'that woman's name ain't Missis Gummidge\nneither, though she has a world of merits.' Mr. Peggotty ruffled his\nhair again, with both hands, as a further preparation for what he was\ngoing to say, and went on, with a hand upon each of his knees:\n\n'There was a certain person as had know'd our Em'ly, from the time when\nher father was drownded; as had seen her constant; when a babby, when\na young gal, when a woman. Not much of a person to look at, he warn't,'\nsaid Mr. Peggotty, 'something o' my own build--rough--a good deal o'\nthe sou'-wester in him--wery salt--but, on the whole, a honest sort of a\nchap, with his art in the right place.' I thought I had never seen Ham grin to anything like the extent to which\nhe sat grinning at us now. 'What does this here blessed tarpaulin go and do,' said Mr. Peggotty,\nwith his face one high noon of enjoyment, 'but he loses that there art\nof his to our little Em'ly. He follers her about, he makes hisself a\nsort o' servant to her, he loses in a great measure his relish for his\nwittles, and in the long-run he makes it clear to me wot's amiss. Now I\ncould wish myself, you see, that our little Em'ly was in a fair way of\nbeing married. I could wish to see her, at all ewents, under articles to\na honest man as had a right to defend her. I don't know how long I may\nlive, or how soon I may die; but I know that if I was capsized, any\nnight, in a gale of wind in Yarmouth Roads here, and was to see the\ntown-lights shining for the last time over the rollers as I couldn't\nmake no head against, I could go down quieter for thinking \"There's a\nman ashore there, iron-true to my little Em'ly, God bless her, and no\nwrong can touch my Em'ly while so be as that man lives.\"' Mr. Peggotty, in simple earnestness, waved his right arm, as if he were\nwaving it at the town-lights for the last time, and then, exchanging a\nnod with Ham, whose eye he caught, proceeded as before. 'Well! I counsels him to speak to Em'ly. He's big enough, but he's\nbashfuller than a little un, and he don't like. So I speak. \"What! Him!\" says Em'ly. \"Him that I've know'd so intimate so many years, and like so\nmuch. Oh, Uncle! I never can have him. He's such a good fellow!\" I gives\nher a kiss, and I says no more to her than, \"My dear, you're right to\nspeak out, you're to choose for yourself, you're as free as a little\nbird.\" Then I aways to him, and I says, \"I wish it could have been so,\nbut it can't. But you can both be as you was, and wot I say to you is,\nBe as you was with her, like a man.\" He says to me, a-shaking of my\nhand, \"I will!\" he says. And he was--honourable and manful--for two year\ngoing on, and we was just the same at home here as afore.' Mr. Peggotty's face, which had varied in its expression with the various\nstages of his narrative, now resumed all its former triumphant delight,\nas he laid a hand upon my knee and a hand upon Steerforth's (previously\nwetting them both, for the greater emphasis of the action), and divided\nthe following speech between us:\n\n'All of a sudden, one evening--as it might be tonight--comes little\nEm'ly from her work, and him with her! There ain't so much in that,\nyou'll say. No, because he takes care on her, like a brother, arter\ndark, and indeed afore dark, and at all times. But this tarpaulin chap,\nhe takes hold of her hand, and he cries out to me, joyful, \"Look here! This is to be my little wife!\" And she says, half bold and half shy, and\nhalf a laughing and half a crying, \"Yes, Uncle! If you please.\" --If I\nplease!' cried Mr. Peggotty, rolling his head in an ecstasy at the idea;\n'Lord, as if I should do anythink else!--\"If you please, I am steadier\nnow, and I have thought better of it, and I'll be as good a little wife\nas I can to him, for he's a dear, good fellow!\" Then Missis Gummidge,\nshe claps her hands like a play, and you come in. Theer! the murder's\nout!' said Mr. Peggotty--'You come in! It took place this here present\nhour; and here's the man that'll marry her, the minute she's out of her\ntime.' Ham staggered, as well he might, under the blow Mr. Peggotty dealt\nhim in his unbounded joy, as a mark of confidence and friendship; but\nfeeling called upon to say something to us, he said, with much faltering\nand great difficulty:\n\n'She warn't no higher than you was, Mas'r Davy--when you first\ncome--when I thought what she'd grow up to be. I see her grown\nup--gent'lmen--like a flower. I'd lay down my life for\nher--Mas'r Davy--Oh! most content and cheerful! She's more to\nme--gent'lmen--than--she's all to me that ever I can want, and more\nthan ever I--than ever I could say. I--I love her true.\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 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> There ain't a\ngent'lman in all the land--nor yet sailing upon all the sea--that\ncan love his lady more than I love her, though there's many a common\nman--would say better--what he meant.' I thought it affecting to see such a sturdy fellow as Ham was now,\ntrembling in the strength of what he felt for the pretty little creature\nwho had won his heart. I thought the simple confidence reposed in us by\nMr. Peggotty and by himself, was, in itself, affecting. I was affected\nby the story altogether. How far my emotions were influenced by the\nrecollections of my childhood, I don't know. Whether I had come there\nwith any lingering fancy that I was still to love little Em'ly, I don't\nknow. I know that I was filled with pleasure by all this; but, at first,\nwith an indescribably sensitive pleasure, that a very little would have\nchanged to pain. Therefore, if it had depended upon me to touch the prevailing chord\namong them with any skill, I should have made a poor hand of it. But it\ndepended upon Steerforth; and he did it with such address, that in a few\nminutes we were all as easy and as happy as it was possible to be. 'Mr. Peggotty,' he said, 'you are a thoroughly good fellow, and deserve\nto be as happy as you are tonight. My hand upon it! Ham, I give you\njoy, my boy. My hand upon that, too! Daisy, stir the fire, and make it a\nbrisk one! and Mr. Peggotty, unless you can induce your gentle niece to\ncome back (for whom I vacate this seat in the corner), I shall go. Any gap at your fireside on such a night--such a gap least of all--I\nwouldn't make, for the wealth of the Indies!' So Mr. Peggotty went into my old room to fetch little Em'ly. At first\nlittle Em'ly didn't like to come, and then Ham went. Presently they\nbrought her to the fireside, very much confused, and very shy,--but\nshe soon became more assured when she found how gently and respectfully\nSteerforth spoke to her; how skilfully he avoided anything that would\nembarrass her; how he talked to Mr. Peggotty of boats, and ships, and\ntides, and fish; how he referred to me about the time when he had seen\nMr. Peggotty at Salem House; how delighted he was with the boat and all\nbelonging to it; how lightly and easily he carried on, until he brought\nus, by degrees, into a charmed circle, and we were all talking away\nwithout any reserve. Em'ly, indeed, said little all the evening; but she looked, and\nlistened, and her face got animated, and she was charming. Steerforth\ntold a story of a dismal shipwreck (which arose out of his talk with Mr.\nPeggotty), as if he saw it all before him--and little Em'ly's eyes were\nfastened on him all the time, as if she saw it too. He told us a merry\nadventure of his own, as a relief to that, with as much gaiety as if the\nnarrative were as fresh to him as it was to us--and little Em'ly\nlaughed until the boat rang with the musical sounds, and we all laughed\n(Steerforth too), in irresistible sympathy with what was so pleasant and\nlight-hearted. He got Mr. Peggotty to sing, or rather to roar, 'When\nthe stormy winds do blow, do blow, do blow'; and he sang a sailor's\nsong himself, so pathetically and beautifully, that I could have almost\nfancied that the real wind creeping sorrowfully round the house, and\nmurmuring low through our unbroken silence, was there to listen. As to Mrs. Gummidge, he roused that victim of despondency with a success\nnever attained by anyone else (so Mr. Peggotty informed me), since\nthe decease of the old one. He left her so little leisure for being\nmiserable, that she said next day she thought she must have been\nbewitched. But he set up no monopoly of the general attention, or the conversation. When little Em'ly grew more courageous, and talked (but still bashfully)\nacross the fire to me, of our old wanderings upon the beach, to pick up\nshells and pebbles; and when I asked her if she recollected how I used\nto be devoted to her; and when we both laughed and reddened, casting\nthese looks back on the pleasant old times, so unreal to look at now; he\nwas silent and attentive, and observed us thoughtfully. She sat, at this\ntime, and all the evening, on the old locker in her old little corner\nby the fire--Ham beside her, where I used to sit. I could not satisfy\nmyself whether it was in her own little tormenting way, or in a maidenly\nreserve before us, that she kept quite close to the wall, and away from\nhim; but I observed that she did so, all the evening. As I remember, it was almost midnight when we took our leave. We had had\nsome biscuit and dried fish for supper, and Steerforth had produced from\nhis pocket a full flask of Hollands, which we men (I may say we men,\nnow, without a blush) had emptied. We parted merrily; and as they all\nstood crowded round the door to light us as far as they could upon our\nroad, I saw the sweet blue eyes of little Em'ly peeping after us, from\nbehind Ham, and heard her soft voice calling to us to be careful how we\nwent. 'A most engaging little Beauty!' said Steerforth, taking my arm. 'Well! It's a quaint place, and they are quaint company, and it's quite a new\nsensation to mix with them.' 'How fortunate we are, too,' I returned, 'to have arrived to witness\ntheir happiness in that intended marriage! I never saw people so happy. How delightful to see it, and to be made the sharers in their honest\njoy, as we have been!' 'That's rather a chuckle-headed fellow for the girl; isn't he?' said\nSteerforth. He had been so hearty with him, and with them all, that I felt a shock\nin this unexpected and cold reply. But turning quickly upon him, and\nseeing a laugh in his eyes, I answered, much relieved:\n\n'Ah, Steerforth! It's well for you to joke about the poor! You may\nskirmish with Miss Dartle, or try to hide your sympathies in jest from\nme, but I know better. When I see how perfectly you understand them, how\nexquisitely you can enter into happiness like this plain fisherman's,\nor humour a love like my old nurse's, I know that there is not a joy or\nsorrow, not an emotion, of such people, that can be indifferent to you. And I admire and love you for it, Steerforth, twenty times the more!' He stopped, and, looking in my face, said, 'Daisy, I believe you are\nin earnest, and are good. I wish we all were!' Next moment he was\ngaily singing Mr. Peggotty's song, as we walked at a round pace back to\nYarmouth.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, 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 2024-01-08", "answer": "Steerforth, Littimer, David, Peggotty, Mr. Barkis, Mrs. Steerforth, Miss Dartle, Yarmouth, boathouse, Mr. Omer, Minnie Omer, Joram, Joe, Blunderstone, Rookery, Mrs. Copperfield, little Emily, Ham Peggotty, Mrs. Gummidge, dressmaker, apprentice, funeral clothes, social position, gossip, marriage proposal, rheumatism, miserly box, baking, carrier, class distinction, jealousy, pride, childhood, reunion, fencing, boxing, riding lessons, anthropological remark, lower orders, argument about the poor, hotel, old adventures, devotion, bashfulness, celebration, midnight departure, Steerforth's charm, Emily's beauty, Ham's joy, Steerforth's opinion of Ham, Steerforth's attitude toward poor, David's innocence, seven years apart"}]