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- Чарльз Диккенс
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'
Formed
his
daughter
on
his
own
model
?
'
suggested
Harthouse
.
'
His
daughter
?
Ah
!
and
everybody
else
.
Why
,
he
formed
Me
that
way
!
'
said
Tom
.
'
Impossible
!
'
'
He
did
,
though
,
'
said
Tom
,
shaking
his
head
.
'
I
mean
to
say
,
Mr.
Harthouse
,
that
when
I
first
left
home
and
went
to
old
Bounderby
's
,
I
was
as
flat
as
a
warming-pan
,
and
knew
no
more
about
life
,
than
any
oyster
does
.
'
'
Come
,
Tom
!
I
can
hardly
believe
that
.
A
joke
's
a
joke
.
'
'
Upon
my
soul
!
'
said
the
whelp
.
'
I
am
serious
;
I
am
indeed
!
'
He
smoked
with
great
gravity
and
dignity
for
a
little
while
,
and
then
added
,
in
a
highly
complacent
tone
,
'
Oh
!
I
have
picked
up
a
little
since
.
I
do
n't
deny
that
.
But
I
have
done
it
myself
;
no
thanks
to
the
governor
.
'
'
And
your
intelligent
sister
?
'
'
My
intelligent
sister
is
about
where
she
was
.
She
used
to
complain
to
me
that
she
had
nothing
to
fall
back
upon
,
that
girls
usually
fall
back
upon
;
and
I
do
n't
see
how
she
is
to
have
got
over
that
since
.
But
she
do
n't
mind
,
'
he
sagaciously
added
,
puffing
at
his
cigar
again
.
'
Girls
can
always
get
on
,
somehow
.
'
'
Calling
at
the
Bank
yesterday
evening
,
for
Mr.
Bounderby
's
address
,
I
found
an
ancient
lady
there
,
who
seems
to
entertain
great
admiration
for
your
sister
,
'
observed
Mr.
James
Harthouse
,
throwing
away
the
last
small
remnant
of
the
cigar
he
had
now
smoked
out
.
