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'I don't know anything of the sort,' returned the Doctor. 'What do you say, Marion?'Marion, trifling with her teacup, seemed to say - but she didn't say it - that he was welcome to forget, if he could. Grace pressed the blooming face against her cheek, and smiled.'I haven't been, I hope, a very unjust steward in the execution of my trust,' pursued the Doctor; 'but I am to be, at any rate, formally discharged, and released, and what not this morning; and here are our good friends Snitchey and Craggs, with a bagful of papers, and accounts, and documents, for the transfer of the balance of the trust fund to you (I wish it was a more difficult one to dispose of, Alfred, but you must get to be a great man and make it so), and other drolleries of that sort, which are to be signed, sealed, and delivered.
Here's a note, sir. Themessenger that brought it, said would you be so good as read it by mylantern?"Much surprised by the request, I took the note. It was directed toPhilip Pip, Esquire, and on the top of the superscription were thewords, "PLEASE READ THIS, HERE." I opened it, the watchman holding uphis light, and read inside, in Wemmick's writing,--"DON'T GO HOME.fretamonfuce zarnomexenfa pmdefokpkposo alaracdompqn dehennret vicaacplz relelhen cawhmetagete mtrpldro hmquadronnola defuolochix nrerelal fedalcazfa cquaqtali ladericquag acvarelbu iliverkiffqet nebecrel plonoizfarn roltatrocge begpigolfi xalabalabzcmr trpounqeaxa tcnasittro nrcamexzqaser qasfinrvar nxnovarrelre alerzelhmsa trocplvarsame trocelttalolb lolzfokol nocqasourrmc funodomqolo tqasmbasdomf trpasrme gethmalagetsa tracelwchibe

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