Tired of walking, stunned by the noise and confusion, anxious for her
brother and the nurses, terrified by what she had undergone, and what
was yet before her, Florence once or twice could not help stopping and
crying bitterly, but few people noticed her, in the garb she wore, or if
they did, believed that she was tutored to excite compassion, and passed
on. It was late in the afternoon when she peeped into a kind of wharf,
and asked a stout man there if he could tell her the way to Dombey
& Son's.
The man looked attentively at her, then called another man, who ran up
an archway, and very soon returned with a blithe-looking boy who he said
was in Mr. Dombey's employ.
Hearing this, Florence felt re-assured; ran eagerly up to him, and
caught his hand in both of hers.
"I'm lost, if you please!" said Florence. "I was lost this morning, a
long way from here--and I have had my own clothes taken away since--and
my name is Florence Dombey, and, oh dear, take care of me, if you
please!" sobbed Florence, giving full vent to her childish feelings.
"Don't cry, Miss Dombey," said young Walter Gay, the nephew of Solomon
Gills, in a transport of enthusiasm. "What a wonderful thing for me that
I am here. You are as safe now as if you were guarded by a whole boat's
crew of picked men from a man-of-war. Oh, don't cry!"
"I won't cry any more," said Florence. "I'm only crying for joy."
"Crying for joy!" thought Walter, "and I'm the cause of it.
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