'The person I have in my mind,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and whom I
should not have presumed to mention to you until some time hence,
but for the opportunity you have given me, is a very strange old
man. His name is Bamber.'
'Bamber!' said Jack. 'I have certainly heard the name before.'
'I have no doubt, then,' returned Mr. Pickwick, 'that you remember
him in those adventures of mine (the Posthumous Papers of our old
club, I mean), although he is only incidentally mentioned; and, if
I remember right, appears but once.'
'That's it,' said Jack. 'Let me see. He is the person who has a
grave interest in old mouldy chambers and the Inns of Court, and
who relates some anecdotes having reference to his favourite theme,
- and an odd ghost story, - is that the man?'
'The very same. Now,' said Mr. Pickwick, lowering his voice to a
mysterious and confidential tone, 'he is a very extraordinary and
remarkable person; living, and talking, and looking, like some
strange spirit, whose delight is to haunt old buildings; and
absorbed in that one subject which you have just mentioned, to an
extent which is quite wonderful. When I retired into private life,
I sought him out, and I do assure you that the more I see of him,
the more strongly I am impressed with the strange and dreamy
character of his mind.'
'Where does he live?' I inquired.
'He lives,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'in one of those dull, lonely old
places with which his thoughts and stories are all connected; quite
alone, and often shut up close for several weeks together.
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