He had not gone far before he met an old miser: close by them stood a tree, and on the topmost twig sat a thrush singing away most joyfully.
Meanwhile the miser crept out of the bush half-naked and in a piteous plight, and began to ponder how he should take his revenge, and serve his late companion some trick.
And still, as if they had not found it, they would seek out another book-shop, and Mr Boffin would say, 'Now, look well all round, my dear, for a Life of a Miser, or any book of that sort; any Lives of odd characters who may have been Misers.'
'Ah, people called him a miser. People are always calling other people something.
Scarcely thirty steps, all told, must I take, and yet it seemed to my overwrought imagination that that farther wall was miles away; but at last I reached it, nor once had I taken my eyes from the back of the old miser
"Nonsense!" said Athos, "the kings of France misers? You are mad, my friend."
See if I have well traced the genealogy of the misers?"
In this house the despicable little miser
, who lived rent free in London, now lives, rent free again, on the coast of Suffolk.
Without being absolutely a miser
, he lived in the humblest manner, saw very little company; skillfully invested his money; and persisted in remaining a single man.
I speak of that spiteful and intriguing Italian -- of the pedant who has tried to put on his own head a crown which he stole from under a pillow -- of the scoundrel who calls his party the party of the king -- who wants to send the princes of the blood to prison, not daring to kill them, as our great cardinal -- our cardinal did -- of the miser, who weighs his gold pieces and keeps the clipped ones for fear, though he is rich, of losing them at play next morning -- of the impudent fellow who insults the queen, as they say -- so much the worse for her -- and who is going in three months to make war upon us, in order that he may retain his pensions; is that the master whom you propose to me?
when there is some idea of being resuscitated, you say he's a scoundrel, an impudent fellow, a miser, a bad master!
Every moment was drive, drive, drive, and Joe was the masterful shepherd of moments, herding them carefully, never losing one, counting them over like a miser
counting gold, working on in a frenzy, toil-mad, a feverish machine, aided ably by that other machine that thought of itself as once having been one Martin Eden, a man.