'Yes, I am,' he said firmly. Our eyes met, and all the 'sir' melted out
of his honest heart as he gave me his hand. 'Pip, dear old boy, life is
full of so many goodbyes. I'm a blacksmith, and you're a gentleman. We
must live apart. I'm not proud, it's just that I want to be in the right
place. I'm wrong in these clothes, and I'm wrong in London, but I'm fine
at the forge, or in the kitchen, or on the marshes. You won't find so
much wrong with me if you come to see Joe, the blacksmith, at the old
forge, doing the old work. I know I'm stupid, but I think I've
understood this at last. And so God bless you, Pip, dear old boy, God
bless you!'
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