Even by Victorian standards, Our Mutual Friend is a sprawling work. I mean that not only in terms of its size, which is formidable, but also its complexity of plot and its enormous cast of characters. At heart it is a comedy, if not a sort of fairy tale, although it wouldn’t be Dickens if there were not some pathetic moments. Most notable among these is the sick bed (the reader will incorrectly assume that it is a death bed) marriage of Eugene Wrayburn and Lizzie Hexam.
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