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Gradgrind
.
'
In
this
degraded
position
!
I
am
amazed
.
'
'
I
was
tired
,
father
.
I
have
been
tired
a
long
time
,
'
said
Louisa
.
'
Tired
?
Of
what
?
'
asked
the
astonished
father
.
'
I
do
n't
know
of
what
--
of
everything
,
I
think
.
'
'
Say
not
another
word
,
'
returned
Mr.
Gradgrind
.
'
You
are
childish
.
I
will
hear
no
more
.
'
He
did
not
speak
again
until
they
had
walked
some
half-a-mile
in
silence
,
when
he
gravely
broke
out
with
:
'
What
would
your
best
friends
say
,
Louisa
?
Do
you
attach
no
value
to
their
good
opinion
?
What
would
Mr.
Bounderby
say
?
'
At
the
mention
of
this
name
,
his
daughter
stole
a
look
at
him
,
remarkable
for
its
intense
and
searching
character
.
He
saw
nothing
of
it
,
for
before
he
looked
at
her
,
she
had
again
cast
down
her
eyes
!
'
What
,
'
he
repeated
presently
,
'
would
Mr.
Bounderby
say
?
'
All
the
way
to
Stone
Lodge
,
as
with
grave
indignation
he
led
the
two
delinquents
home
,
he
repeated
at
intervals
'
What
would
Mr.
Bounderby
say
?
'
--
as
if
Mr.
Bounderby
had
been
Mrs.
Grundy
.
Not
being
Mrs.
Grundy
,
who
was
Mr.
Bounderby
?
Why
,
Mr.
Bounderby
was
as
near
being
Mr.
Gradgrind
's
bosom
friend
,
as
a
man
perfectly
devoid
of
sentiment
can
approach
that
spiritual
relationship
towards
another
man
perfectly
devoid
of
sentiment
.
So
near
was
Mr.
Bounderby
--
or
,
if
the
reader
should
prefer
it
,
so
far
off
.
He
was
a
rich
man
:
banker
,
merchant
,
manufacturer
,
and
what
not
.
A
big
,
loud
man
,
with
a
stare
,
and
a
metallic
laugh
.
A
man
made
out
of
a
coarse
material
,
which
seemed
to
have
been
stretched
to
make
so
much
of
him
.
A
man
with
a
great
puffed
head
and
forehead
,
swelled
veins
in
his
temples
,
and
such
a
strained
skin
to
his
face
that
it
seemed
to
hold
his
eyes
open
,
and
lift
his
eyebrows
up
.
A
man
with
a
pervading
appearance
on
him
of
being
inflated
like
a
balloon
,
and
ready
to
start
.
A
man
who
could
never
sufficiently
vaunt
himself
a
self-made
man
.
A
man
who
was
always
proclaiming
,
through
that
brassy
speaking-trumpet
of
a
voice
of
his
,
his
old
ignorance
and
his
old
poverty
.
A
man
who
was
the
Bully
of
humility
.
A
year
or
two
younger
than
his
eminently
practical
friend
,
Mr.
Bounderby
looked
older
;
his
seven
or
eight
and
forty
might
have
had
the
seven
or
eight
added
to
it
again
,
without
surprising
anybody
.
He
had
not
much
hair
.
One
might
have
fancied
he
had
talked
it
off
;
and
that
what
was
left
,
all
standing
up
in
disorder
,
was
in
that
condition
from
being
constantly
blown
about
by
his
windy
boastfulness
.
