The confined room, strong of parchment-grease, is warehouse, counting-house, and copying-office. Mr. Tulkinghorn sits, facing round, on a stool at the desk.
"Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Snagsby."
"Yes, sir." Mr. Snagsby turns up the gas and coughs behind his hand, modestly anticipating profit. Mr. Snagsby, as a timid man, is accustomed to cough with a variety of expressions, and so to save words.
"You copied some affidavits in that cause for me lately."
"Yes, sir, we did."

The confined room is warehouse, counting-house, and copying-office. Mr. Tulkinghorn sits on a stool at the desk.
"Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Snagsby."
"Yes, sir." Mr. Snagsby turns up the gas and coughs, modestly anticipating profit. Mr. Snagsby, as a timid man, is accustomed to cough with a variety of expressions, so as to save words.
"You copied some affidavits in that cause for me lately."
"Yes, sir, we did."
