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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 24/78
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'
Bear
but
a
touch
of
my
hand
there
,
'
said
the
Spirit
,
laying
it
upon
his
heart
,
'
and
you
shall
be
upheld
in
more
than
this
.
'
As
the
words
were
spoken
,
they
passed
through
the
wall
,
and
stood
upon
an
open
country
road
,
with
fields
on
either
hand
.
The
city
had
entirely
vanished
.
Not
a
vestige
of
it
was
to
be
seen
.
The
darkness
and
the
mist
had
vanished
with
it
,
for
it
was
a
clear
,
cold
,
winter
day
,
with
snow
upon
the
ground
.
'
Good
Heaven
!
'
said
Scrooge
,
clasping
his
hands
together
,
as
he
looked
about
him
.
'
I
was
bred
in
this
place
.
I
was
a
boy
here
.
'
The
Spirit
gazed
upon
him
mildly
.
Its
gentle
touch
,
though
it
had
been
light
and
instantaneous
,
appeared
still
present
to
the
old
man
's
sense
of
feeling
.
He
was
conscious
of
a
thousand
odours
floating
in
the
air
,
each
one
connected
with
a
thousand
thoughts
,
and
hopes
,
and
joys
,
and
cares
long
,
long
,
forgotten
.
'
Your
lip
is
trembling
,
'
said
the
Ghost
.
'
and
what
is
that
upon
your
cheek
?
'
Scrooge
muttered
,
with
an
unusual
catching
in
his
voice
,
that
it
was
a
pimple
;
and
begged
the
Ghost
to
lead
him
where
he
would
.
'
You
recollect
the
way
?
'
inquired
the
Spirit
.
'
Remember
it
!
'
cried
Scrooge
with
fervour
;
'
I
could
walk
it
blindfold
.
'
'
Strange
to
have
forgotten
it
for
so
many
years
,
'
observed
the
Ghost
.
'
Let
us
go
on
.
'
They
walked
along
the
road
,
Scrooge
recognising
every
gate
,
and
post
,
and
tree
;
until
a
little
market-town
appeared
in
the
distance
,
with
its
bridge
,
its
church
,
and
winding
river
.
Some
shaggy
ponies
now
were
seen
trotting
towards
them
with
boys
upon
their
backs
,
who
called
to
other
boys
in
country
gigs
and
carts
,
driven
by
farmers
.
