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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Холодный дом
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"
Go
on
!
"
"
Now
,
I
tell
you
,
miss
,
"
she
proceeded
,
clapping
her
hands
in
her
hurry
and
agitation
a
dozen
times
in
every
sentence
,
"
that
what
he
says
concerning
no
relations
is
all
bosh
.
They
don
’
t
know
of
him
,
but
he
does
know
of
them
.
He
has
said
more
to
me
at
odd
times
than
to
anybody
else
,
and
it
warn
’
t
for
nothing
that
he
once
spoke
to
my
Woolwich
about
whitening
and
wrinkling
mothers
’
heads
.
For
fifty
pounds
he
had
seen
his
mother
that
day
.
She
’
s
alive
and
must
be
brought
here
straight
!
"
Instantly
Mrs
.
Bagnet
put
some
pins
into
her
mouth
and
began
pinning
up
her
skirts
all
round
a
little
higher
than
the
level
of
her
grey
cloak
,
which
she
accomplished
with
surpassing
dispatch
and
dexterity
.
"
Lignum
,
"
said
Mrs
.
Bagnet
,
"
you
take
care
of
the
children
,
old
man
,
and
give
me
the
umbrella
!
I
’
m
away
to
Lincolnshire
to
bring
that
old
lady
here
.
"
"
But
,
bless
the
woman
,
"
cried
my
guardian
with
his
hand
in
his
pocket
,
"
how
is
she
going
?
What
money
has
she
got
?
"
Mrs
.
Bagnet
made
another
application
to
her
skirts
and
brought
forth
a
leathern
purse
in
which
she
hastily
counted
over
a
few
shillings
and
which
she
then
shut
up
with
perfect
satisfaction
.
"
Never
you
mind
for
me
,
miss
.
I
’
m
a
soldier
’
s
wife
and
accustomed
to
travel
my
own
way
.
Lignum
,
old
boy
,
"
kissing
him
,
"
one
for
yourself
,
three
for
the
children
.
Now
I
’
m
away
into
Lincolnshire
after
George
’
s
mother
!
"
And
she
actually
set
off
while
we
three
stood
looking
at
one
another
lost
in
amazement
.
She
actually
trudged
away
in
her
grey
cloak
at
a
sturdy
pace
,
and
turned
the
corner
,
and
was
gone
.
"
Mr
.
Bagnet
,
"
said
my
guardian
"
Do
you
mean
to
let
her
go
in
that
way
?
"
"
Can
’
t
help
it
,
"
he
returned
.
"
Made
her
way
home
once
from
another
quarter
of
the
world
.
With
the
same
grey
cloak
.
And
same
umbrella
.
Whatever
the
old
girl
says
,
do
.
Do
it
!
Whenever
the
old
girl
says
,
I
’
LL
do
it
.
She
does
it
.
"
"
Then
she
is
as
honest
and
genuine
as
she
looks
,
"
rejoined
my
guardian
,
"
and
it
is
impossible
to
say
more
for
her
.
"
"
She
’
s
Colour
-
Sergeant
of
the
Nonpareil
battalion
,
"
said
Mr
.
Bagnet
,
looking
at
us
over
his
shoulder
as
he
went
his
way
also
.
"
And
there
’
s
not
such
another
.
But
I
never
own
to
it
before
her
.
Discipline
must
be
maintained
.
"
Mr
.
Bucket
and
his
fat
forefinger
are
much
in
consultation
together
under
existing
circumstances
.
When
Mr
.
Bucket
has
a
matter
of
this
pressing
interest
under
his
consideration
,
the
fat
forefinger
seems
to
rise
,
to
the
dignity
of
a
familiar
demon
.
He
puts
it
to
his
ears
,
and
it
whispers
information
;
he
puts
it
to
his
lips
,
and
it
enjoins
him
to
secrecy
;
he
rubs
it
over
his
nose
,
and
it
sharpens
his
scent
;
he
shakes
it
before
a
guilty
man
,
and
it
charms
him
to
his
destruction
.
The
Augurs
of
the
Detective
Temple
invariably
predict
that
when
Mr
.
Bucket
and
that
finger
are
in
much
conference
,
a
terrible
avenger
will
be
heard
of
before
long
.
Otherwise
mildly
studious
in
his
observation
of
human
nature
,
on
the
whole
a
benignant
philosopher
not
disposed
to
be
severe
upon
the
follies
of
mankind
,
Mr
.
Bucket
pervades
a
vast
number
of
houses
and
strolls
about
an
infinity
of
streets
,
to
outward
appearance
rather
languishing
for
want
of
an
object
.
He
is
in
the
friendliest
condition
towards
his
species
and
will
drink
with
most
of
them
.
He
is
free
with
his
money
,
affable
in
his
manners
,
innocent
in
his
conversation
—
but
through
the
placid
stream
of
his
life
there
glides
an
under
-
current
of
forefinger
.
Time
and
place
cannot
bind
Mr
.
Bucket
.
Like
man
in
the
abstract
,
he
is
here
to
-
day
and
gone
to
-
morrow
—
but
,
very
unlike
man
indeed
,
he
is
here
again
the
next
day
.
This
evening
he
will
be
casually
looking
into
the
iron
extinguishers
at
the
door
of
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
’
s
house
in
town
;
and
to
-
morrow
morning
he
will
be
walking
on
the
leads
at
Chesney
Wold
,
where
erst
the
old
man
walked
whose
ghost
is
propitiated
with
a
hundred
guineas
.
Drawers
,
desks
,
pockets
,
all
things
belonging
to
him
,
Mr
.
Bucket
examines
.
A
few
hours
afterwards
,
he
and
the
Roman
will
be
alone
together
comparing
forefingers
.
It
is
likely
that
these
occupations
are
irreconcilable
with
home
enjoyment
,
but
it
is
certain
that
Mr
.
Bucket
at
present
does
not
go
home
.
Though
in
general
he
highly
appreciates
the
society
of
Mrs
.
Bucket
—
a
lady
of
a
natural
detective
genius
,
which
if
it
had
been
improved
by
professional
exercise
,
might
have
done
great
things
,
but
which
has
paused
at
the
level
of
a
clever
amateur
—
he
holds
himself
aloof
from
that
dear
solace
.
Mrs
.
Bucket
is
dependent
on
their
lodger
(
fortunately
an
amiable
lady
in
whom
she
takes
an
interest
)
for
companionship
and
conversation
.
A
great
crowd
assembles
in
Lincoln
’
s
Inn
Fields
on
the
day
of
the
funeral
.
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
attends
the
ceremony
in
person
;
strictly
speaking
,
there
are
only
three
other
human
followers
,
that
is
to
say
,
Lord
Doodle
,
William
Buffy
,
and
the
debilitated
cousin
(
thrown
in
as
a
make
-
weight
)
,
but
the
amount
of
inconsolable
carriages
is
immense
.
The
peerage
contributes
more
four
-
wheeled
affliction
than
has
ever
been
seen
in
that
neighbourhood
.
Such
is
the
assemblage
of
armorial
bearings
on
coach
panels
that
the
Herald
’
s
College
might
be
supposed
to
have
lost
its
father
and
mother
at
a
blow
.
The
Duke
of
Foodle
sends
a
splendid
pile
of
dust
and
ashes
,
with
silver
wheel
-
boxes
,
patent
axles
,
all
the
last
improvements
,
and
three
bereaved
worms
,
six
feet
high
,
holding
on
behind
,
in
a
bunch
of
woe
.
All
the
state
coachmen
in
London
seem
plunged
into
mourning
;
and
if
that
dead
old
man
of
the
rusty
garb
be
not
beyond
a
taste
in
horseflesh
(
which
appears
impossible
)
,
it
must
be
highly
gratified
this
day
.
Quiet
among
the
undertakers
and
the
equipages
and
the
calves
of
so
many
legs
all
steeped
in
grief
,
Mr
.
Bucket
sits
concealed
in
one
of
the
inconsolable
carriages
and
at
his
ease
surveys
the
crowd
through
the
lattice
blinds
.
He
has
a
keen
eye
for
a
crowd
—
as
for
what
not
?
—
and
looking
here
and
there
,
now
from
this
side
of
the
carriage
,
now
from
the
other
,
now
up
at
the
house
windows
,
now
along
the
people
’
s
heads
,
nothing
escapes
him
.
"
And
there
you
are
,
my
partner
,
eh
?
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
to
himself
,
apostrophizing
Mrs
.
Bucket
,
stationed
,
by
his
favour
,
on
the
steps
of
the
deceased
’
s
house
.
"
And
so
you
are
.
And
so
you
are
!
And
very
well
indeed
you
are
looking
,
Mrs
.
Bucket
!
"
The
procession
has
not
started
yet
,
but
is
waiting
for
the
cause
of
its
assemblage
to
be
brought
out
.
Mr
.
Bucket
,
in
the
foremost
emblazoned
carriage
,
uses
his
two
fat
forefingers
to
hold
the
lattice
a
hair
’
s
breadth
open
while
he
looks
.
And
it
says
a
great
deal
for
his
attachment
,
as
a
husband
,
that
he
is
still
occupied
with
Mrs
.
B
.
"
There
you
are
,
my
partner
,
eh
?
"
he
murmuringly
repeats
.
"
And
our
lodger
with
you
.
I
’
m
taking
notice
of
you
,
Mrs
.
Bucket
;
I
hope
you
’
re
all
right
in
your
health
,
my
dear
!
"
Not
another
word
does
Mr
.
Bucket
say
,
but
sits
with
most
attentive
eyes
until
the
sacked
depository
of
noble
secrets
is
brought
down
—
Where
are
all
those
secrets
now
?
Does
he
keep
them
yet
?
Did
they
fly
with
him
on
that
sudden
journey
?
—
and
until
the
procession
moves
,
and
Mr
.
Bucket
’
s
view
is
changed
.
After
which
he
composes
himself
for
an
easy
ride
and
takes
note
of
the
fittings
of
the
carriage
in
case
he
should
ever
find
such
knowledge
useful
.
Contrast
enough
between
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
shut
up
in
his
dark
carriage
and
Mr
.
Bucket
shut
up
in
HIS
.
Between
the
immeasurable
track
of
space
beyond
the
little
wound
that
has
thrown
the
one
into
the
fixed
sleep
which
jolts
so
heavily
over
the
stones
of
the
streets
,
and
the
narrow
track
of
blood
which
keeps
the
other
in
the
watchful
state
expressed
in
every
hair
of
his
head
!
But
it
is
all
one
to
both
;
neither
is
troubled
about
that
.
Mr
.
Bucket
sits
out
the
procession
in
his
own
easy
manner
and
glides
from
the
carriage
when
the
opportunity
he
has
settled
with
himself
arrives
.
He
makes
for
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
’
s
,
which
is
at
present
a
sort
of
home
to
him
,
where
he
comes
and
goes
as
he
likes
at
all
hours
,
where
he
is
always
welcome
and
made
much
of
,
where
he
knows
the
whole
establishment
,
and
walks
in
an
atmosphere
of
mysterious
greatness
.
No
knocking
or
ringing
for
Mr
.
Bucket
.
He
has
caused
himself
to
be
provided
with
a
key
and
can
pass
in
at
his
pleasure
.
As
he
is
crossing
the
hall
,
Mercury
informs
him
,
"
Here
’
s
another
letter
for
you
,
Mr
.
Bucket
,
come
by
post
,
"
and
gives
it
him
.
"
Another
one
,
eh
?
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
.
If
Mercury
should
chance
to
be
possessed
by
any
lingering
curiosity
as
to
Mr
.
Bucket
’
s
letters
,
that
wary
person
is
not
the
man
to
gratify
it
.
Mr
.
Bucket
looks
at
him
as
if
his
face
were
a
vista
of
some
miles
in
length
and
he
were
leisurely
contemplating
the
same
.
"
Do
you
happen
to
carry
a
box
?
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
.
Unfortunately
Mercury
is
no
snuff
-
taker
.
"
Could
you
fetch
me
a
pinch
from
anywheres
?
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
.
"
Thankee
.
It
don
’
t
matter
what
it
is
;
I
’
m
not
particular
as
to
the
kind
.
Thankee
!
"
Having
leisurely
helped
himself
from
a
canister
borrowed
from
somebody
downstairs
for
the
purpose
,
and
having
made
a
considerable
show
of
tasting
it
,
first
with
one
side
of
his
nose
and
then
with
the
other
,
Mr
.
Bucket
,
with
much
deliberation
,
pronounces
it
of
the
right
sort
and
goes
on
,
letter
in
hand
.
Now
although
Mr
.
Bucket
walks
upstairs
to
the
little
library
within
the
larger
one
with
the
face
of
a
man
who
receives
some
scores
of
letters
every
day
,
it
happens
that
much
correspondence
is
not
incidental
to
his
life
.
He
is
no
great
scribe
,
rather
handling
his
pen
like
the
pocket
-
staff
he
carries
about
with
him
always
convenient
to
his
grasp
,
and
discourages
correspondence
with
himself
in
others
as
being
too
artless
and
direct
a
way
of
doing
delicate
business
.
Further
,
he
often
sees
damaging
letters
produced
in
evidence
and
has
occasion
to
reflect
that
it
was
a
green
thing
to
write
them
.
For
these
reasons
he
has
very
little
to
do
with
letters
,
either
as
sender
or
receiver
.
And
yet
he
has
received
a
round
half
-
dozen
within
the
last
twenty
-
four
hours
.
"
And
this
,
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
,
spreading
it
out
on
the
table
,
"
is
in
the
same
hand
,
and
consists
of
the
same
two
words
.
"
What
two
words
?
He
turns
the
key
in
the
door
,
ungirdles
his
black
pocket
-
book
(
book
of
fate
to
many
)
,
lays
another
letter
by
it
,
and
reads
,
boldly
written
in
each
,
"
Lady
Dedlock
.
"
"
Yes
,
yes
,
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
.
"
But
I
could
have
made
the
money
without
this
anonymous
information
.
"
Having
put
the
letters
in
his
book
of
fate
and
girdled
it
up
again
,
he
unlocks
the
door
just
in
time
to
admit
his
dinner
,
which
is
brought
upon
a
goodly
tray
with
a
decanter
of
sherry
.
Mr
.
Bucket
frequently
observes
,
in
friendly
circles
where
there
is
no
restraint
,
that
he
likes
a
toothful
of
your
fine
old
brown
East
Inder
sherry
better
than
anything
you
can
offer
him
.
Consequently
he
fills
and
empties
his
glass
with
a
smack
of
his
lips
and
is
proceeding
with
his
refreshment
when
an
idea
enters
his
mind
.
Mr
.
Bucket
softly
opens
the
door
of
communication
between
that
room
and
the
next
and
looks
in
.
The
library
is
deserted
,
and
the
fire
is
sinking
low
.
Mr
.
Bucket
’
s
eye
,
after
taking
a
pigeon
-
flight
round
the
room
,
alights
upon
a
table
where
letters
are
usually
put
as
they
arrive
.
Several
letters
for
Sir
Leicester
are
upon
it
.
Mr
.
Bucket
draws
near
and
examines
the
directions
.
"
No
,
"
he
says
,
"
there
’
s
none
in
that
hand
.
It
’
s
only
me
as
is
written
to
.
I
can
break
it
to
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
,
to
-
morrow
.
"
With
that
he
returns
to
finish
his
dinner
with
a
good
appetite
,
and
after
a
light
nap
,
is
summoned
into
the
drawing
-
room
.
Sir
Leicester
has
received
him
there
these
several
evenings
past
to
know
whether
he
has
anything
to
report
.
The
debilitated
cousin
(
much
exhausted
by
the
funeral
)
and
Volumnia
are
in
attendance
.
Mr
.
Bucket
makes
three
distinctly
different
bows
to
these
three
people
.
A
bow
of
homage
to
Sir
Leicester
,
a
bow
of
gallantry
to
Volumnia
,
and
a
bow
of
recognition
to
the
debilitated
Cousin
,
to
whom
it
airily
says
,
"
You
are
a
swell
about
town
,
and
you
know
me
,
and
I
know
you
.
"
Having
distributed
these
little
specimens
of
his
tact
,
Mr
.
Bucket
rubs
his
hands
.
"
Have
you
anything
new
to
communicate
,
officer
?
"
inquires
Sir
Leicester
.
"
Do
you
wish
to
hold
any
conversation
with
me
in
private
?
"
"
Why
—
not
to
-
night
,
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
.
"
"
Because
my
time
,
"
pursues
Sir
Leicester
,
"
is
wholly
at
your
disposal
with
a
view
to
the
vindication
of
the
outraged
majesty
of
the
law
.
"
Mr
.
Bucket
coughs
and
glances
at
Volumnia
,
rouged
and
necklaced
,
as
though
he
would
respectfully
observe
,
"
I
do
assure
you
,
you
’
re
a
pretty
creetur
.
I
’
ve
seen
hundreds
worse
looking
at
your
time
of
life
,
I
have
indeed
.
"
The
fair
Volumnia
,
not
quite
unconscious
perhaps
of
the
humanizing
influence
of
her
charms
,
pauses
in
the
writing
of
cocked
-
hat
notes
and
meditatively
adjusts
the
pearl
necklace
.
Mr
.
Bucket
prices
that
decoration
in
his
mind
and
thinks
it
as
likely
as
not
that
Volumnia
is
writing
poetry
.
"
If
I
have
not
,
"
pursues
Sir
Leicester
,
"
in
the
most
emphatic
manner
,
adjured
you
,
officer
,
to
exercise
your
utmost
skill
in
this
atrocious
case
,
I
particularly
desire
to
take
the
present
opportunity
of
rectifying
any
omission
I
may
have
made
.
Let
no
expense
be
a
consideration
.
I
am
prepared
to
defray
all
charges
.
You
can
incur
none
in
pursuit
of
the
object
you
have
undertaken
that
I
shall
hesitate
for
a
moment
to
bear
.
"
Mr
.
Bucket
made
Sir
Leicester
’
s
bow
again
as
a
response
to
this
liberality
.
"
My
mind
,
"
Sir
Leicester
adds
with
a
generous
warmth
,
"
has
not
,
as
may
be
easily
supposed
,
recovered
its
tone
since
the
late
diabolical
occurrence
.
It
is
not
likely
ever
to
recover
its
tone
.
But
it
is
full
of
indignation
to
-
night
after
undergoing
the
ordeal
of
consigning
to
the
tomb
the
remains
of
a
faithful
,
a
zealous
,
a
devoted
adherent
.
"
Sir
Leicester
’
s
voice
trembles
and
his
grey
hair
stirs
upon
his
head
.
Tears
are
in
his
eyes
;
the
best
part
of
his
nature
is
aroused
.
"
I
declare
,
"
he
says
,
"
I
solemnly
declare
that
until
this
crime
is
discovered
and
,
in
the
course
of
justice
,
punished
,
I
almost
feel
as
if
there
were
a
stain
upon
my
name
.
A
gentleman
who
has
devoted
a
large
portion
of
his
life
to
me
,
a
gentleman
who
has
devoted
the
last
day
of
his
life
to
me
,
a
gentleman
who
has
constantly
sat
at
my
table
and
slept
under
my
roof
,
goes
from
my
house
to
his
own
,
and
is
struck
down
within
an
hour
of
his
leaving
my
house
.
I
cannot
say
but
that
he
may
have
been
followed
from
my
house
,
watched
at
my
house
,
even
first
marked
because
of
his
association
with
my
house
—
which
may
have
suggested
his
possessing
greater
wealth
and
being
altogether
of
greater
importance
than
his
own
retiring
demeanour
would
have
indicated
.
If
I
cannot
with
my
means
and
influence
and
my
position
bring
all
the
perpetrators
of
such
a
crime
to
light
,
I
fail
in
the
assertion
of
my
respect
for
that
gentleman
’
s
memory
and
of
my
fidelity
towards
one
who
was
ever
faithful
to
me
.
