Godfrey Ablewhite. All I can do is to
state the facts as they were stated, on that Monday evening, to me;
proceeding on the plan which I have been taught from infancy to adopt
in folding up my clothes. Everything shall be put neatly, and everything
shall be put in its place. These lines are written by a poor weak woman.
From a poor weak woman who will be cruel enough to expect more?
The date--thanks to my dear parents, no dictionary that ever was written
can be more particular than I am about dates--was Friday, June 30th,
1848.
Early on that memorable day, our gifted Mr. Godfrey happened to be
cashing a cheque at a banking-house in Lombard Street. The name of the
firm is accidentally blotted in my diary, and my sacred regard for truth
forbids me to hazard a guess in a matter of this kind. Fortunately, the
name of the firm doesn't matter. What does matter is a circumstance that
occurred when Mr. Godfrey had transacted his business. On gaining the
door, he encountered a gentleman--a perfect stranger to him--who was
accidentally leaving the office exactly at the same time as himself. A
momentary contest of politeness ensued between them as to who should be
the first to pass through the door of the bank.
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