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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 142/247
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He
had
only
to
take
leave
of
his
landlady
,
and
lie
down
on
his
temporary
bed
upon
the
floor
;
for
his
bundle
was
made
up
for
to-morrow
,
and
all
was
arranged
for
his
departure
.
He
meant
to
be
clear
of
the
town
very
early
;
before
the
Hands
were
in
the
streets
.
It
was
barely
daybreak
,
when
,
with
a
parting
look
round
his
room
,
mournfully
wondering
whether
he
should
ever
see
it
again
,
he
went
out
.
The
town
was
as
entirely
deserted
as
if
the
inhabitants
had
abandoned
it
,
rather
than
hold
communication
with
him
.
Everything
looked
wan
at
that
hour
.
Even
the
coming
sun
made
but
a
pale
waste
in
the
sky
,
like
a
sad
sea
.
By
the
place
where
Rachael
lived
,
though
it
was
not
in
his
way
;
by
the
red
brick
streets
;
by
the
great
silent
factories
,
not
trembling
yet
;
by
the
railway
,
where
the
danger-lights
were
waning
in
the
strengthening
day
;
by
the
railway
's
crazy
neighbourhood
,
half
pulled
down
and
half
built
up
;
by
scattered
red
brick
villas
,
where
the
besmoked
evergreens
were
sprinkled
with
a
dirty
powder
,
like
untidy
snuff-takers
;
by
coal-dust
paths
and
many
varieties
of
ugliness
;
Stephen
got
to
the
top
of
the
hill
,
and
looked
back
.
Day
was
shining
radiantly
upon
the
town
then
,
and
the
bells
were
going
for
the
morning
work
.
Domestic
fires
were
not
yet
lighted
,
and
the
high
chimneys
had
the
sky
to
themselves
Puffing
out
their
poisonous
volumes
,
they
would
not
be
long
in
hiding
it
;
but
,
for
half
an
hour
,
some
of
the
many
windows
were
golden
,
which
showed
the
Coketown
people
a
sun
eternally
in
eclipse
,
through
a
medium
of
smoked
glass
.
So
strange
to
turn
from
the
chimneys
to
the
birds
.
So
strange
,
to
have
the
road-dust
on
his
feet
instead
of
the
coal-grit
.
So
strange
to
have
lived
to
his
time
of
life
,
and
yet
to
be
beginning
like
a
boy
this
summer
morning
!
With
these
musings
in
his
mind
,
and
his
bundle
under
his
arm
,
Stephen
took
his
attentive
face
along
the
high
road
.
And
the
trees
arched
over
him
,
whispering
that
he
left
a
true
and
loving
heart
behind
.
Mr.
James
Harthouse
,
'
going
in
'
for
his
adopted
party
,
soon
began
to
score
.
With
the
aid
of
a
little
more
coaching
for
the
political
sages
,
a
little
more
genteel
listlessness
for
the
general
society
,
and
a
tolerable
management
of
the
assumed
honesty
in
dishonesty
,
most
effective
and
most
patronized
of
the
polite
deadly
sins
,
he
speedily
came
to
be
considered
of
much
promise
.
The
not
being
troubled
with
earnestness
was
a
grand
point
in
his
favour
,
enabling
him
to
take
to
the
hard
Fact
fellows
with
as
good
a
grace
as
if
he
had
been
born
one
of
the
tribe
,
and
to
throw
all
other
tribes
overboard
,
as
conscious
hypocrites
.
'
Whom
none
of
us
believe
,
my
dear
Mrs.
Bounderby
,
and
who
do
not
believe
themselves
.
The
only
difference
between
us
and
the
professors
of
virtue
or
benevolence
,
or
philanthropy
--
never
mind
the
name
--
is
,
that
we
know
it
is
all
meaningless
,
and
say
so
;
while
they
know
it
equally
and
will
never
say
so
.
'
Why
should
she
be
shocked
or
warned
by
this
reiteration
?
It
was
not
so
unlike
her
father
's
principles
,
and
her
early
training
,
that
it
need
startle
her
.
Where
was
the
great
difference
between
the
two
schools
,
when
each
chained
her
down
to
material
realities
,
and
inspired
her
with
no
faith
in
anything
else
?
What
was
there
in
her
soul
for
James
Harthouse
to
destroy
,
which
Thomas
Gradgrind
had
nurtured
there
in
its
state
of
innocence
!
