'Up you go,' said the stranger, helping Mr Pickwick on to the coach with such an unexpected push that for a moment Mr Pickwick looked rather funny as he tried not to fall over.
'Any luggage, Sir?' the coachman asked.

The stranger replied 'Who -I ? I have a brown paper parcel here, that's all - my other luggage has gone by boat - it's nailed up in packing-cases, cases big as houses - heavy, very heavy'.

He pushed into his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper parcel, which looked as if it had inside exactly one shirt and a handkerchief. 'Heads, heads - take mind your heads!' said the talkative stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which was over the entrance to the coach-yard in those days. 'Terrible place - very dangerous - the other day - five children and their mother - tall lady, eating sandwiches - she forgot the arch – crash.'

'The children looked round - mother's head was off - sandwich still in her hand - no mouth to put it in - shocking, shocking! Looking at Whitehall Sir? - fine place - see that little window - they cut King Charles' head off there, eh, Sir? - he was not careful enough either - eh, Sir, eh?'
 
'I am thinking,' said Mr Pickwick, 'about how easily people's lives can change.'