To Cook's Court, therefore, he repairs. Mr. Snagsby is behind his counter in his grey coat and sleeves, inspecting an indenture of several skins which has just come in from the engrosser's, an immense desert of law-hand and parchment, with here and there a resting-place of a few large letters to break the awful monotony and save the traveller from despair. Mr Snagsby puts up at one of these inky wells and greets the stranger with his cough of general preparation for business.
"You don't remember me, Mr. Snagsby?"
The stationer's heart begins to thump heavily, for his old apprehensions have never abated. It is as much as he can do to answer, "No, sir, I can't say I do. I should have considered--not to put too fine a point upon it--that I never saw you before, sir."
"Twice before," says Allan Woodcourt. "Once at a poor bedside, and once--"

At Cook's Court he finds Mr. Snagsby behind his counter in his grey coat and sleeves, inspecting an immense desert of parchment. Mr. Snagsby greets the stranger with his cough of business.
"You don't remember me, Mr. Snagsby?"
The stationer's heart begins to thump heavily. It is all he can do to answer, "No, sir, I can't say I do. I don't think that I ever saw you before, sir."
"Twice before," says Allan Woodcourt. "Once at a poor bedside, and once-"
