Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the seventeenth chapter of Great Expectations.

Come with us as we release one bite a day of one of your favorite classic novels, plays & short stories. Bree reads these classics like she reads to her daughter, one chapter a day. If you love books or audiobooks and want something to listen to as you're getting ready, driving to work, or as you're getting ready for bed, check out Bite at a Time Books!

Follow, rate, and review Bite at a Time Books where we read you your favorite classics, one bite at a time. Available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Check out our website, or join our Facebook Group!

Get exclusive Behind the Scenes content on our YouTube!

We are now part of the Bite at a Time Books Productions network!

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on all the socials: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook - TikTok

Follow Bree at: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook

San the book and let's see what we can find.

Take it chapter by chapter, One bite at a time so many adventures and mountains we can climb take it word for word like by line.

One bite at a time.

My name is Brie Carlyle and I love to read and wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

If you want to know what's coming next and vote on upcoming books, sign up for our newsletter@byetatimebooks.com you'll also find our new T shirts in the shop, including podcast shirts and quote shirts from your favorite classic novels.

Be sure to follow my show on your favorite podcast platform so you get all the new episodes.

You can find most of our links in the show notes, but also our website, bytetimebooks.com includes all of the links for our show, including to our Patreon to support the show and YouTube, where we have special behind the narration of the episodes.

We're part of the Bite at a Time Books Productions network.

If you'd also like to hear what inspired your favorite classic authors to write their novels and what was going on in the world at the time, check out the Bite at a Time books behind the Story podcast.

Wherever you listen to podcasts, please note while we try to keep the text as close to the original as possible, some words have been changed to honor the marginalized communities who've identified the words as harmful and to stay in alignment with bite at a time book's brand values.

Today we'll be continuing great Expectations by Charles Dickens Chapter 17 I now fell into a regular routine of apprenticeship life, which was varied beyond the limits of the village and the marshes by no more remarkable circumstance than the arrival of my birthday and my paying another visit to Miss Havisham.

I found Miss Sarah Pocket still on duty at the gate.

I found Miss Havisham just as I had left her, and she spoke of Estella in the very same way, if not in the very same words.

The interview lasted but a few minutes, and she gave me a guinea when I was going and told me to come again on my next birthday.

I may mention at once that this became an annual custom.

I tried to decline taking the guinea on the first occasion, but with no better effect than causing her to ask me very angrily if I expected more then and after that I took it.

So unchanging was the dull old house, the yellow light in the darkened room, the faded specter in the chair by the dressing table glass, that I felt as if the stopping of the clocks had stopped time in that mysterious place.

And while I and everything else outside it grew older.

It stood still.

Daylight never entered the house as to my thoughts and remembrances of it, any more than as to the actual fact it bewildered me, and under its influence I continued at heart to hate my trade and to be ashamed of home.

Imperceptibly I became conscious of a change in Biddy, however.

Her shoes came up at the heel, her hair grew bright and neat, her hands were always clean.

She was not beautiful.

She was common and could not be like Estella, but she was pleasant and wholesome and sweet tempered.

She had not been with us more than a year.

I remember her being newly out of mourning at the time.

It struck me when I observed to myself one evening that she had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes, eyes that were very pretty and very good.

It came of my lifting up my own eyes from a task I was poring at, writing some passages from a book to improve myself in two ways at once, by a sort of stratagem, and seeing Biddy observant to what I was about, I laid down my pin and Biddy stopped in her needlework.

Without laying it down, Biddy, said I, how do you manage it?

Either I'm very stupid or you're very clever.

What is it that I manage?

I don't know, returned Biddy, smiling.

She managed our whole domestic life, and wonderfully, too.

But I did not mean that, though that made what I did mean more surprising.

How do you manage, Biddy?

Said I, to learn everything that I learn, and always to keep up with me.

I was beginning to be rather vain of my knowledge, for I spent my birthday guineas on it, and set aside the greater part of my pocket money for similar investment.

Though I have no doubt now that the little I knew was extremely dear at the price.

I might as well ask you, said Biddy, how you manage.

No, because when I come in from the forge of a knight, anyone can see me turning to at it.

But you never turn to at it, Biddy.

I suppose I must catch it like a cough, said Biddy quietly, and went on with her sewing, pursuing my ideas.

I leaned back in my wooden chair and looked at Biddy sewing away with her head on one side.

I began to think her rather an extraordinary girl, for I called to mind now that she was equally accomplished in the terms of our trade and the names of our different sorts of work and our various tools.

In short, whatever I knew, Biddy knew theoretically.

She was already as good a blacksmith as I, or better.

You are one of those, Bidy, said I, who make the most of every chance.

You never had a chance before you came here and see how improved you are.

Biddy looked at me for an instant and went on with her sewing.

I was your first teacher, though, wasn't I?

Said she, as she sewed.

Biddy.

I exclaimed in amazement.

Why, you're crying.

No, I am not, said Biddy, looking up and laughing.

What put that in your head?

I could have put it in my head, but the glistening with tears that dropped on her work.

I sat silent, recalling what a drudge she had been until Mr.

Wapsel's great aunt successfully overcame that bad habit of living.

Though highly desirable to be got rid of by some people, I recalled the hopeless circumstances by which she had been surrounded in the miserable little shop and the miserable little noisy evening school, with that miserable old bundle of incompetence always to be dragged and shouldered.

I reflected that even in those untoward times there must have been latent in Biddy what was now developing, for in my first uneasiness and discontent I had turned to her for help as a matter of course.

Biddy sat quietly sewing, shedding no more tears.

And while I looked at her and thought about it all, it occurred to me that perhaps I had not been sufficiently grateful to Biddy.

I might have been too reserved and should have patronized her more, though I did not use that precise word in my meditations with my confidence.

Yes, Bitty, I observed when I had done turning it over.

You were my first teacher, and at a time when we thought of ever being together like this in the kitchen.

Ah, poor thing, replied Biddy.

It was like her self forgetfulness to transfer the remark to my sister, and to get up and be busy about her, making her more comfortable.

That's sadly true.

Well, said I, we must talk together a little more, as we used to do, and I must consult you a little more, as I used to do.

Let us have a quiet walk on the marshes next Sunday, Bidy, and a long chat.

My sister was never left alone now, but Joe more than readily undertook the care of her on that Sunday afternoon, and Biddy and I went out together.

It was summertime, in lovely weather, when we had passed the village and the church and the churchyard, and were out on the marshes, and began to see the sails of the ships as they sailed on.

I began to combine Miss Havisham and Estella with the prospect in my usual way.

When we came to the riverside and sat down on the bank with the water rippling at our feet, making it all more quiet than it would have been without that sound.

I resolved that it was a good time and place for the admission of Biddy into my inner confidence.

Biddy, said I, after binding her to secrecy, I want to be a gentleman.

Oh, I wouldn't if I was you, she returned.

I don't think it would answer.

Biddy, said I, with some severity.

I have particular reasons for wanting to be a gentleman.

You know best, Pip.

But don't you think you are happier as you are?

Biddy.

I exclaimed impatiently.

I'm not at all happy as I am.

I'm disgusted with my calling and with my life.

I've never taken to either since I was bound.

Don't be absurd.

Was I absurd?

Said Biddy quietly, raising her eyebrows.

I'm sorry for that.

I didn't mean to be.

I only want you to do well and to be comfortable.

Well, then, understand once and for all that I never shall or can be comfortable or anything but miserable there, Biddy, unless I can lead a very different sort of life from the life I lead now.

That's a pity, said Biddy, shaking her head with the sorrowful air.

Now I too had so often thought in a pity that in the singular kind of quarrel with myself which I was always carrying on, I was half inclined to shed tears of vexation and distress.

When Biddy gave utterance to her sentiment and my own, I told her she was right, and I knew it was much to be regretted.

But still it was not to be helped.

If I could have settled down, I said to Bidy, plucking up the short grass within reach, much as I had once upon a time pulled my feelings out of my hair and kicked them into the brewery wall, if I could have settled down and been but half as fond of the forge as I was when I was little, I know it would have been much better for me.

You and I and Joe would have wanted nothing then, and Joe and I would perhaps have gone partners when I was out of my time, and I might even have grown up to keep company with you, and we might have sat on this very bank on a fine Sunday.

Quite different people.

I should have been good enough for you, shouldn't I, Biddy?

Bidy sighed as she looked at the ship sailing on and returned for answer.

Yes, I'm not over particular.

It scarcely sounded flattering, but I knew she meant well.

Instead of that, said I, plucking up more grass and chewing a blade or two, see how I'm going on this satisfied an uncomfortable and what would it signify to me, being coarse in common?

If nobody had told me so.

Biddy turned her face suddenly towards mine, and looked far more attentively at me than she had looked at the sailing ships.

It was neither a very true nor a very polite thing to say, she remarked, directing her eyes to the ships again.

Who said it?

I was disconcerted, for I had broken away without quite seeing where I was going to.

It was not to be shuffled off now, however, and I answered the beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham's, and she's more beautiful than anybody ever was, and I admire her dreadfully, and I want to be a gentleman on her account.

Having made this lunatic confession, I began to throw my torn up grass into the river, as if I had some thoughts following it.

Do you want to be a gentleman despite her, or to gain her over?

Biddy quietly asked me after a pause.

I don't know, I moodily answered, because if it is despite her, Bidy pursued, I should think, but you know best, that might be better and more independently done by caring nothing for her words.

And if it is to gain her over, I should think, but you know best.

She was not worth gaining over exactly what I myself had thought many times, exactly what was perfectly manifest to me at the moment.

But how could I, a poor dazed village lad, avoid that wonderful inconsistency into which the best and wisest of men fall every day?

It may be all quite true, said Ida Bidy, but I admire her dreadfully.

In short, I turned over on my face when I came to that, and got a good grasp on the hair on each side of my head, and wrenched it well, all the while knowing the madness of my heart to be so very mad and misplaced that I was quite conscious it would have served my face right if I had lifted it up by my hair and knocked it against the pebbles as a punishment for belonging to such an idiot.

Midi was the wisest of girls, and she tried to reason no more with me.

She put her hand, which was a comfortable hand, that roughened my work, upon my hands one after another, and gently took them out of my hair.

Then she softly patted my shoulder in a soothing way, while my face upon my sleeve.

I cried a little, exactly as I had done in the brewery yard, and felt vaguely convinced that I was very much ill used by somebody, or by everybody, I can't say which.

I am glad of one thing, said Biddy, and that is that you have felt you could give me your confidence, Pip, and I am glad of another thing, and that is that of course you know you may depend upon my keeping it, and always so far deserving it.

If your first teacher, dear, such a poor one and so much in need of being taught herself, had been your teacher at the present time, she thinks she knows what lesson she would set, but it would be a hard one to learn, and you've got beyond her, and it's of no use now.

So with a quiet sigh from me, Biddy rose from the bank and said with a fresh and pleasant change of voice, shall we walk a little further, or go home?

Biddy.

I cried, getting up, putting my arm round her neck and giving her a kiss.

I shall always tell you everything till you're a gentleman, said Biddy.

You know I never shall be so that's always not that I have an occasion to tell you anything, for you know everything.

I know, as I told you at home the other night.

Ah, said Biddy, quite in a whisper, as she looked away at the ships, and then repeated with her former pleasant change, shall we walk a little farther, or go home?

I have said to Bidy, we would walk a little farther, and we did so in the summer afternoon, toned down into the summer evening, and it was very beautiful.

I began to consider whether I was not more naturally and wholesomely situated, after all, in these circumstances, than playing beggar my neighbor by candlelight in the room with the stopped clocks, and being despised by Estella.

I thought it would be very good for me if I could get her out of my head with all the rest of those remembrances and fancies, and could go to work determined to relish what I had to do and stick to it and make the best of it.

I asked myself the question, whether I did not surely know that if Estella were beside me at that moment instead of Biddy, she would make me miserable.

I was obliged to admit that I did know it, for certainly.

And I said to myself, Pip, what a fool you are.

We talked a good deal as we walked, and all that Biddy said seemed right.

Biddy was never insulting or capricious, or Biddy today and somebody else tomorrow, she would have derived only pain and no pleasure from giving me pain.

She would far rather have wounded her own breast than mine.

How could it be, then, that I did not like her much the better of the two?

Biddy, said I, when we were walking homeward.

I wish you could put me right.

I wish I could, said Biddy, if I could only get myself to fall in love with you.

You don't mind my speaking so openly to such an old acquaintance?

Oh, dear, not at all said Biddy, don't mind me.

If I could only get myself to do it, that would be the thing for me.

But you never will, you see, said Biddy, it did not appear quite so unlikely to me that evening as it would have done if we had discussed it a few hours before.

I therefore observed I was not quite sure of that, but Biddy said she was, and she said it decisively.

In my heart I believed her to be right, and yet I took it rather ill, too, that she should be so positive on the point.

When we came near the churchyard, we had to cross an embankment and get over a still near Sluice gate.

There started up from the gate, or from the rushes, or from the ooze, which was quite in his stagnant way.

Old Orlich.

Hello.

He growled.

Where you two going?

Where should we be going but home?

Well, then, said he, I'm jiggered if I don't see you home.

This penalty of being jiggered was a favorite suppositious case of his.

He attached no definite meaning to the word that I'm aware of, but used it like his own pretended Christian name, to affront mankind and convey an idea of something savagely damaging.

When I was younger I had had a general belief that if he had jiggered me personally, he would have done it with a sharp and twisted hook.

But he was much against his going with us, and said to me in a whisper, don't let him come.

I don't like him as I did not like him either.

I took the liberty of saying that we thanked him, but we didn't want seeing home.

He received that piece of information with a yell of laughter and dropped back, but came slouching after us at a little distance, curious to know whether Biddy suspected him of having had a hand in that murderous attack of which my sister had never been able to give any account.

I asked her why she did not like him.

Oh, she replied, glancing over her shoulder as he slouched after us, because I.

I'm afraid he likes me.

Did he ever tell you he liked you?

I asked indignantly.

No, said Biddy, glancing over her shoulder again.

He never told me so, but he dances at me whenever he can catch my eye.

However novel and peculiar this testimony of attachment, I did not doubt the accuracy of the interpretation.

I was very hot indeed upon old Orlich's daring to admire her, as hot as if it were an outrage on myself.

But it makes no difference to you, you know, said Biddy calmly.

No, Biddy.

It makes no difference to me only I don't like it.

I don't approve of it.

Nor I neither, said Biddy, though that makes no difference to you.

Exactly, said I.

But I must tell you, I should have no opinion of you, Bidy, if he danced at you with your own consent.

I kept an eye on Orlick after that night, and whenever circumstances were favorable to his dancing at, Biddy got before him to obscure that demonstration.

He had struck root in Joe's establishment by reason of my sister's sudden fancy for him, or I should have tried to get him dismissed.

He quite understood and reciprocated my good intentions, as I had reason to know thereafter and now, because my mind was not confused enough before, I complicated its confusion 50 thousandfold by having states and seasons when it was clear that Biddy was immeasurably better than Estella, and that the plain, honest working life to which I was born had nothing in it to be ashamed of, but offered me sufficient means of self respect and happiness.

At those times I would decide conclusively that my disaffection to dear old Joe and the forge was gone, and that I was growing up in a fair way to be partners with Joe and to keep company with Biddy, when all in a moment some confounding remembrance of the Havisham days would fall upon me like a destructive missile and scatter my wits again.

Scattered wits Take a long time picking up, and often before I had got them well together, they would be dispersed in all directions by one stray thought, that perhaps after all, Miss Havisham was going to make my fortune when my time was out.

If my time had run out, it would have left me still at the height of my perplexities.

I dare say it never did run out, however, but was brought to a premature end as I proceed to relate.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of great expectations.

Don't forget to sign up for our newsletter@Bytetimebooks.com, and check out the shop.

You can check out the show notes or our website, bytitimebooks.com for the rest of the links for our show, we'd love to hear from you on social media as well.

It so many adventures and mountains we can climb.

Take it word for word, line by line, one bite at a time, close.