Stave 1
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Senior (55+)Accents
British (England - East Midlands, Leicester) North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
well, Marley was dead to begin with. There's no doubt about it. Not whatsoever. The register of his burial will sign by the clergyman clerk. The undertaker on the chief mourner screwed, signed it himself. And Scrooges name? Well, it was good upon change for anything. He chose to put his hand. Oh, Marley was his dead as a doornail mind. I don't mean to say that I know of my own knowledge. What? There is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined myself. Never got a coffin. Nail heavy is a dentist piece of iron, hungry in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors and in this simile and my unhealed hand shall not disturb it where the country is done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat emphatically that Marley was dead as a doornail. Screech knew he was dead. Well, of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years Scrooge was His own sole executor is sold administrator. His soul assigned his soul Resident jury leg A T is so friend and mourner, and even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event did. He was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and Salam ized it with undoubted bargains. The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point that I started. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come with this story. I'm about to relate to you. If we were not so perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began, there'd be nothing more remarkable in its taking a stroll at night in an easterly wind upon his own ramparts. And there would be in any other middle aged gentleman righteously turning out after dark and a breezy spot. Se ST Paul's churchyard, for instance, literally astonishes Sons Week mine. Scrooge never painted old Marley's name. He never painted it out. That is, there it stood years afterwards, above the warehouse store Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Marley, sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge and sometimes Marley. But he answered to both names. It was all the same to him. Oh, but he was a tightfisted hand at the grindstone Scrooge squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching Old City hard and sharp is a flip from which no steel that ever been struck out. Generous fire secret, self contained and solitary is a oyster cooled within him. Frozen's old feathers nipped his pointed nose shrivelled his G stiffened his gale, made his eyes red, his thin lips blue and spoke out, shrewdly integrating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows and his wiry chin, he carried his own low temperature, always about him. He iced his office with the dog days and didn't thought one degree at Christmas. External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warrant. No one could know. Wintry weather could chill him. No wind that blew was better than he. No falling snow was more intent upon the purpose. No pelting rain, less open to the intriguing foul weather. Didn't know where do have him the heaviest rain to snow. The hailed asleep could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often came down handsomely, and Scrooge never did. Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say with glad Cem looks my dear Scrooge, How are you when we have come to see me? Oh, no beggars and bore him to bestow a trifle. No Children, no Children at all would ask him with you what it was o clock. No man or woman ever once in all his life inquired, await to such such place of Scrooge. Even the blind men's dogs appeared to know him and when they saw him coming on, would tuck their owners into the doorways and up the courts and would wag their tails as though they say multi at all better than the evil eye Dark master. So what did Scrooge care? He was a very thinking like toe edge. His way along the credit pads of life warning all human sympathy to keep its distance was what the knowing ones call nuts to Scrooge. What's upon the time of all the good days in the year? I'm Christmassy old, Screwed, set busily at his counting house. It was called bleak fighting weather foggy with all. And he could hear the people in the court outside go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts and stepping their feet on the pavement stones. How to warm them. The city clock it only just gone. Three. It was quite dark already. It had not been light all day and the candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring officers like ready smears on the palpable brown air. The fog came pulling in at every *** in keyhole, so dense without that, although the court was a narrows the house opposite. We're mere phantoms. See that Kinji Cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything. One might have thought that nature lived, are by and was brewing on a large scale. The door the Scrooges counting house was was open that he might keep his eye upon the clerk who in a dismal little cell beyond a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerks fire was so very, very smaller that it looked like one cool, but he couldn't replenish it. Scrooge kept the cool box in his own room, and so surely is a clerk came in with a shovel. The master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter and tried to warm himself by the candle in which effort not being a man of strong imagination, he failed