And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on
the bank?
He put his hands together as he had been used to do at his prayers. He did
not remove his arms to do it, but they saw him fold them so, behind her
neck,
"Mama is like you, Floy. I know her by the face. But tell them that the
print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. The light about the
head is shining on me as I go."
The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in
the room. The old, old fashion. The fashion that came in with our first
garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and
the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old
fashion--Death.
Oh, thank God for that older fashion yet,--of Immortality!
PIP
[Illustration: PIP AND MISS HAVISHAM.]
My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my
infant tongue could make of both names nothing more explicit than Pip. So
I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.
My mother and father both being dead, I was brought up by my sister, Mrs.
Joe Gargery, who was more than twenty years older than I, and a veritable
shrew by nature.
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