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178 there may have been one or two brighter spirits—had laboriously invented this long burst of discourse with the view of relieving the feelings both of Florence and himself. But finding that he had run through his property, as it were, in an injudicious manner, by squandering the whole before taking a chair, or before Florence had uttered a word, or before he had well got in at the door, he deemed it advisable to begin again.

"How d’ye do, Miss Dombey?" said Mr. Toots. "I’m very well, I thank you; how are you?"

Florence gave him her hand, and said she was very well.

"I’m very well indeed," said Mr. Toots, taking a chair. "Very well indeed, I am. I don’t remember," said Mr. Toots, after reflecting a little, "that I was ever better, thank you."

"It’s very kind of you to come," said Florence, taking up her work, "I am very glad to see you."

Mr. Toots responded with a chuckle. Thinking that might be too lively, he corrected it with a sigh. Thinking that might be too melancholy, he corrected it with a chuckle. Not thoroughly pleasing himself with either mode of reply, he breathed hard.

"You were very kind to my dear brother," said Florence, obeying her own natural impulse to relieve him by saying so. "He often talked to me about you."

"Oh it’s of no consequence," said Mr. Toots hastily. "Warm, ain’t it?"

"It is beautiful weather,’ replied Florence.

"It agrees with me!" said Mr. Toots. "I don’t think I ever was so well as I find myself at present, I’m obliged to you."

After stating this curious and unexpected fact, Mr. Toots fell into a deep well of silence.

"You have left Dr. Blimber’s, I think?" said Florence, trying to help him out.

"I should hope so," returned Mr. Toots. And tumbled in again.

He remained at the bottom, apparently drowned, for at least ten minutes. At the expiration of that period, he suddenly floated, and said,

"Well! Good morning, Miss Dombey."

"Are you going?" asked Florence, rising.

"I don’t know, though. No, not just at present," said Mr. Toots, sitting down again, most unexpectedly. "The fact is—I say, Miss Dombey!"

"Don’t be afraid to speak to me," said Florence, with a quiet smile, "I should be very glad if you would talk about my brother."

"Would you, though?" retorted Mr. Toots, with sympathy in every fibre of his otherwise expressionless face. "Poor Dombey! I’m sure I never thought that Burgess and Co.—fashionable tailors (but very dear), that we used to talk about—would make this suit of clothes for such a purpose." Mr. Toots was dressed in mourning. "Poor Dombey! I say! Miss Dombey!" blubbered Toots.

"Yes," said Florence.

"There’s a friend he took to very much at last. I thought you’d like to have him, perhaps, as a sort of keepsake. You remember his remembering Diogenes?"