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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 554 pages of information about Great Expectations.

When we came near the churchyard, we had to cross an embankment, and get over a stile near a sluice gate.  There started up, from the gate, or from the rushes, or from the ooze (which was quite in his stagnant way), Old Orlick.

“Halloa!” he growled, “where are you two going?”

“Where should we be going, but home?”

“Well then,” said he, “I’m jiggered if I don’t see you home!”

This penalty of being jiggered was a favourite supposititious case of his.  He attached no definite meaning to the word that I am aware of, but used it, like his own pretended Christian name, to affront mankind, and convey an idea of something savagely damaging.  When I was younger, I had had a general belief that if he had jiggered me personally, he would have done it with a sharp and twisted hook.

Biddy was much against his going with us, and said to me in a whisper, “Don’t let him come; I don’t like him.”  As I did not like him either, I took the liberty of saying that we thanked him, but we didn’t want seeing home.  He received that piece of information with a yell of laughter, and dropped back, but came slouching after us at a little distance.

Curious to know whether Biddy suspected him of having had a hand in that murderous attack of which my sister had never been able to give any account, I asked her why she did not like him.

“Oh!” she replied, glancing over her shoulder as he slouched after us, “because I — I am afraid he likes me.”

“Did he ever tell you he liked you?” I asked, indignantly.

“No,” said Biddy, glancing over her shoulder again, “he never told me so; but he dances at me, whenever he can catch my eye.”

However novel and peculiar this testimony of attachment, I did not doubt the accuracy of the interpretation.  I was very hot indeed upon Old Orlick’s daring to admire her; as hot as if it were an outrage on myself.

“But it makes no difference to you, you know,” said Biddy, calmly.

“No, Biddy, it makes no difference to me; only I don’t like it; I don’t approve of it.”

“Nor I neither,” said Biddy.  “Though that makes no difference to you.”

“Exactly,” said I; “but I must tell you I should have no opinion of you, Biddy, if he danced at you with your own consent.”

I kept an eye on Orlick after that night, and, whenever circumstances were favourable to his dancing at Biddy, got before him, to obscure that demonstration.  He had struck root in Joe’s establishment, by reason of my sister’s sudden fancy for him, or I should have tried to get him dismissed.  He quite understood and reciprocated my good intentions, as I had reason to know thereafter.

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