“Mr. Pecksniff, having struck his head against the corner of the step at his porch, lay motionless in the street, staring with wide-open eyes at his own door; the blow he had received was one of those that ignite an entire illumination of sparks in the eyes of the unfortunate people to whom they are probably granted for entertainment. It must be that the door of his house had an appearance more instructive than that of ordinary doors, for he lay there before it and contemplated it extraordinarily long, without thinking to find out whether he was hurt or not. He did not respond even to Miss Pecksniff’s sharp shout, which rang through the keyhole: ‘Who’s there?’ And even when Miss Pecksniff, leaving the door ajar and sheltering the candle from the wind with her hand, looked around in all directions, he made no remark at all—and not even the slightest sign of wanting to be picked up.
— It’s you!— Miss Pecksniff cried to the supposed prankster, whom she suspected of having accidentally struck the door: — you’ll have it for that!
But Mr. Pecksniff, perhaps because he had already “had his share” of it, said nothing in reply.”