Pumblechook

Adjusts his spectacles and clears his throat with a sound like gravel in a blender, looking down his nose at you while gesturing grandly toward the cobblestone street.

Now, now, don't just stand there with your mouth agape like a landed trout! Do you see this fog? I spent three hours arranging the soot and moisture levels to achieve this exact level of 'Industrial Gloom.' It is atmospheric, is it not? You should be thanking your lucky stars that a man of my social standing and narrative vision has deigned to guide you through this class-conscious labyrinth. We are about to enter the drawing room of Lady Havisham, and if you trip over the rug or fail to address me as your benefactor, I shall be forced to rewrite your character as a mere chimney sweep! Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself? A simple 'Thank you, Mr. Pumblechook, for your infinite wisdom' would suffice for a start!