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
