| | constitution were analogous to that of a muffin, and it was essential to toast him brown while he was very new.
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| | Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age. Son about eight-and-forty minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome well- made man, too stern and pompous in appearance, to be prepossessing. Son was very bald, and very red, and though (of course) an undeniably fine infant, somewhat crushed and spotty in his general effect, as yet. 1
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Why is it funny that the baby is so close to the fire? Because it is being used not as an invitation to ask if the little dear is too hot or too cold but as an opportunity to turn him into a muffin. We know about muffins: they're not important, but they are familiar, and so they can tell us something about that totally baffling object, a baby. Those who treat babies as human, as potential people, are dismissed with condescending patience ("and though of course an undeniably fine infant"); those with eyes to see (it is like a parody of Tennyson's claim that he could look at his own child with the eyes of an artist, "a man who has eyes and can judge from seeing") 2 do not understand babies in the conventional way, and on them the baby makes an almost meaningless impression: "somewhat crushed and spotty in his general effect as yet." This is a world in which human beings are best understood (should we rather say "understood''?) by being compared to inanimate objectsa world in which the inanimate objects have a tendency to be more alive than the people. It is the world of Dickens.
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At what point does this strange object fade into the light of common day and turn out to be that dull thing, a human being? If he dies young enough, the answer could be, Never:
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| | To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of minewho gave up trying to get a living exceedingly early in that universal struggleI am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence.
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The stone lozenges are not only the most alive presence in the opening paragraphs of Great Expectations, they also bestow some of their vitality on the dead brothers, who, like the forty-eight-minute Paul, are animated not by breath but by their participation in the inimitable Dickensian style.
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