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of a

neckcloth;

buttoned

up to the

throat;

and had a

long,

lank,

skeleton

hand,

which

particularly

attracted

my

attention,

as he

stood at

the pony's

head,

rubbing

his chin

with it,

and

looking up

at us in

the

chaise.

'Is Mr.

Wickfield

at home,

Uriah

Heep?'said

my aunt.

'Mr.

Wickfield's

at home,

ma'am,'said

Uriah

Heep,'if

you'll

please to

walk in

there'—pointing

with his

long hand

to the

room he

meant. We

got out;

and