You may or may not know that my fellow-blogger Christine and I both play flute. You also, may or may not know that all three of us bloggerly types also run.
It is in light of these facts that the following passage has me worried about messages our dear Dickens might be trying to send to two-thirds of our little group. Read for yourself this passage about an imprisoned man:
There was nobody inside [the cell] but a miserable shoeless criminal, who had been taken up for playing the flute, and who: the offence against society having been clearly proved: had been very properly committed by Mr. Fang to the House of Correction for one month; with the appropriate and amusing remark that since he had so much breath to spare, it would be much more wholesomely expended on the treadmill than in a musical instrument.
I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go for a little jog now.