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boxes, gallery, orchestra, fittings, and decorations of every kind,--all
looked coarse, cold, gloomy and wretched.

"Is this a theatre?" whispered Smike, in amazement; "I thought it was a
blaze of light and finery."

"Why, so it is," replied Nicholas, hardly less surprised; "But not by
day, Smike,--not by day."

At this moment the manager's voice was heard, introducing the
new-comers, under the stage names of Johnson and Digby, to Mrs.
Crummles, a portly lady in a tarnished silk cloak, with her bonnet
dangling by the strings, and with a quantity of hair braided in a large
festoon over each temple; who greeted them with great cordiality.

While they were chatting with her, there suddenly bounded on to the


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