(11) CHARLES DICKENS: DAVID COPPERFIELD: CHAPTER 11: I DON'T LIKE THE LIFE I BEGIN ON MY OWN ACCOUNT
I knew enough of the world now. I was not surprised much by anything. But it was a surprise to me that I had been thrown away so easily at such an age. A child of abilities and observations. Nobody had made any sign in my behalf. At ten years old I became a labouring hind of Murdstone and Grinby. Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse was at waterside. It was down in Blackfriars. Modern improvements have altered the place; but it was the last house at the bottom of a narrow street, curving down to the river, with some stairs at the end, where people took boat. It was a crazy old house, with a wharf of its own, abutting on the water when the tide was in, and on the mud when tide was out, and overrun with myraid of rats. Its panelled rooms, discoloured with dirt and smoke of years, its decaying floors and stairs, the squeaking and scuffing of old grey rats, down in the cellars, and the dirt and rottenness of the place, even after decades, still li...