They'll do it, if there's anything to be got by it." "That makes it worse." "You think so ?" returned Mr.Wemmick.

"Much about the same, I should say." He wore his hat on the back of his head, and looked straight before him: walking in a self-contained way as if there were nothing in the streets to claim his attention.

His mouth was such a post-office of a mouth that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling.

We had got to the top of Holborn Hill before I knew that it was merely a mechanical appearance, and that he was not smiling at all.
"Do you know where Mr.Matthew Pocket lives ?" I asked Mr.Wemmick.
"Yes," said he, nodding in the direction.

"At Hammersmith, west of London." "Is that far ?" "Well! Say five miles." "Do you know him ?" "Why, you're a regular cross-examiner!" said Mr.Wemmick, looking at me with an approving air.