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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Commercial Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
An outlook onto what Estella might think of Pip----

Submitted: March 10, 2008

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Submitted: March 10, 2008



I can recall my first meeting with Pip at the gate quite clearly- I was disgusted. He was hiding behind a man who called himself “Pumblechook”, and was quite a portly and disgusting man. He reeked of selfishness, and I was confused as to why Miss Havisham would associate with a type like him. Then the small boy named Pip came out from behind the revolting man and I could see a glimmer of hope in his eye- foolish child! Did he not remember who I was? That I was of Gentry and he was of Peasantry? That he was lucky to even have me glance in his sickening direction before I wrinkled my nose?
As he followed me through the halls, I was glad that he did not try to converse with me; it was frustrating enough as it was that I was to behave like a servant and lead him to Miss Havisham’s room. Later, when we were asked to play cards, I could not help but assert some of my thoughts about him. I did not feel like he deserved to hear them- his very essence was repulsive, I should not like to think of what his talk was like.
Over the next course of months, Pip became more and more irritating: I could no longer insult him with a result! He seemed almost as if a hard shell had thickened over his dirt, but I knew one hadn’t. His glances at me and my beauty were clear (but sickening) evidence of his growing affection. I sometimes wonder why Miss Havisham does this to me; forces me to play with people of obvious lower status. When Pip became closer to the woman by pushing her around in her chair or helping her walk around her table, I could not help but have a bitterly blissful disposition. He was replacing me, it seemed and now I was no longer needed, almost. However, I was also no longer needed for his entertainment for the entirety of his visit.
He was a curious fellow, I must admit. Though I bereaved him for his continuing insolence, I was never making a clear dent. He always left and returned, if not additionally cheerful the next week. He did not seem pleased to leave into the hands of Pumblechook, but t’was not oft that he did commence to do so. He came once to Miss Havisham’s birthday, and all the ladies noted on how young and foolish (not to mention unscrupulously filthy) he was; yet how he continuously stared at me, following my every motion with his pallid eyes and sallow cheeks. He had not class, not style; that was clear. I end on a rather pathetic note stating that the wan little face of that boy shall not strike me on any positive note.

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