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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Рождественская история
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- Стр. 10/78
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To
say
that
he
was
not
startled
,
or
that
his
blood
was
not
conscious
of
a
terrible
sensation
to
which
it
had
been
a
stranger
from
infancy
,
would
be
untrue
.
But
he
put
his
hand
upon
the
key
he
had
relinquished
,
turned
it
sturdily
,
walked
in
,
and
lighted
his
candle
.
He
did
pause
,
with
a
moment
's
irresolution
,
before
he
shut
the
door
;
and
he
did
look
cautiously
behind
it
first
,
as
if
he
half-expected
to
be
terrified
with
the
sight
of
Marley
's
pigtail
sticking
out
into
the
hall
.
But
there
was
nothing
on
the
back
of
the
door
,
except
the
screws
and
nuts
that
held
the
knocker
on
,
so
he
said
'
Pooh
,
pooh
!
'
and
closed
it
with
a
bang
.
The
sound
resounded
through
the
house
like
thunder
.
Every
room
above
,
and
every
cask
in
the
wine-merchant
's
cellars
below
,
appeared
to
have
a
separate
peal
of
echoes
of
its
own
.
Scrooge
was
not
a
man
to
be
frightened
by
echoes
.
He
fastened
the
door
,
and
walked
across
the
hall
,
and
up
the
stairs
;
slowly
too
:
trimming
his
candle
as
he
went
.
You
may
talk
vaguely
about
driving
a
coach-and-six
up
a
good
old
flight
of
stairs
,
or
through
a
bad
young
Act
of
Parliament
;
but
I
mean
to
say
you
might
have
got
a
hearse
up
that
staircase
,
and
taken
it
broadwise
,
with
the
splinter-bar
towards
the
wall
and
the
door
towards
the
balustrades
:
and
done
it
easy
.
There
was
plenty
of
width
for
that
,
and
room
to
spare
;
which
is
perhaps
the
reason
why
Scrooge
thought
he
saw
a
locomotive
hearse
going
on
before
him
in
the
gloom
.
Half
a
dozen
gas-lamps
out
of
the
street
would
n't
have
lighted
the
entry
too
well
,
so
you
may
suppose
that
it
was
pretty
dark
with
Scrooge
's
dip
.
Up
Scrooge
went
,
not
caring
a
button
for
that
.
Darkness
is
cheap
,
and
Scrooge
liked
it
.
But
before
he
shut
his
heavy
door
,
he
walked
through
his
rooms
to
see
that
all
was
right
.
He
had
just
enough
recollection
of
the
face
to
desire
to
do
that
.
Sitting-room
,
bedroom
,
lumber-room
.
All
as
they
should
be
.
Nobody
under
the
table
,
nobody
under
the
sofa
;
a
small
fire
in
the
grate
;
spoon
and
basin
ready
;
and
the
little
saucepan
of
gruel
(
Scrooge
had
a
cold
in
his
head
)
upon
the
hob
.
Nobody
under
the
bed
;
nobody
in
the
closet
;
nobody
in
his
dressing-gown
,
which
was
hanging
up
in
a
suspicious
attitude
against
the
wall
.
Lumber-room
as
usual
.
Old
fire-guards
,
old
shoes
,
two
fish-baskets
,
washing-stand
on
three
legs
,
and
a
poker
.
Quite
satisfied
,
he
closed
his
door
,
and
locked
himself
in
;
double-locked
himself
in
,
which
was
not
his
custom
.
Thus
secured
against
surprise
,
he
took
off
his
cravat
;
put
on
his
dressing-gown
and
slippers
,
and
his
nightcap
;
and
sat
down
before
the
fire
to
take
his
gruel
.
It
was
a
very
low
fire
indeed
;
nothing
on
such
a
bitter
night
.
He
was
obliged
to
sit
close
to
it
,
and
brood
over
it
,
before
he
could
extract
the
least
sensation
of
warmth
from
such
a
handful
of
fuel
.
The
fireplace
was
an
old
one
,
built
by
some
Dutch
merchant
long
ago
,
and
paved
all
round
with
quaint
Dutch
tiles
,
designed
to
illustrate
the
Scriptures
.
There
were
Cains
and
Abels
,
Pharaohs
'
daughters
;
Queens
of
Sheba
,
Angelic
messengers
descending
through
the
air
on
clouds
like
feather-beds
,
Abrahams
,
Belshazzars
,
Apostles
putting
off
to
sea
in
butter-boats
,
hundreds
of
figures
to
attract
his
thoughts
--
and
yet
that
face
of
Marley
,
seven
years
dead
,
came
like
the
ancient
Prophet
's
rod
,
and
swallowed
up
the
whole
.
If
each
smooth
tile
had
been
a
blank
at
first
,
with
power
to
shape
some
picture
on
its
surface
from
the
disjointed
fragments
of
his
thoughts
,
there
would
have
been
a
copy
of
old
Marley
's
head
on
every
one
.
