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- Чарльз Диккенс
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They
had
stopped
among
a
disorder
of
roses
--
it
was
part
of
Mr.
Bounderby
's
humility
to
keep
Nickits
's
roses
on
a
reduced
scale
--
and
Tom
sat
down
on
a
terrace-parapet
,
plucking
buds
and
picking
them
to
pieces
;
while
his
powerful
Familiar
stood
over
him
,
with
a
foot
upon
the
parapet
,
and
his
figure
easily
resting
on
the
arm
supported
by
that
knee
.
They
were
just
visible
from
her
window
.
Perhaps
she
saw
them
.
'
Tom
,
what
's
the
matter
?
'
'
Oh
!
Mr.
Harthouse
,
'
said
Tom
with
a
groan
,
'
I
am
hard
up
,
and
bothered
out
of
my
life
.
'
'
My
good
fellow
,
so
am
I.
'
'
You
!
'
returned
Tom
.
'
You
are
the
picture
of
independence
.
Mr.
Harthouse
,
I
am
in
a
horrible
mess
.
You
have
no
idea
what
a
state
I
have
got
myself
into
--
what
a
state
my
sister
might
have
got
me
out
of
,
if
she
would
only
have
done
it
.
'
He
took
to
biting
the
rosebuds
now
,
and
tearing
them
away
from
his
teeth
with
a
hand
that
trembled
like
an
infirm
old
man
's
.
After
one
exceedingly
observant
look
at
him
,
his
companion
relapsed
into
his
lightest
air
.
'
Tom
,
you
are
inconsiderate
:
you
expect
too
much
of
your
sister
.
You
have
had
money
of
her
,
you
dog
,
you
know
you
have
.
'
'
Well
,
Mr.
Harthouse
,
I
know
I
have
.
How
else
was
I
to
get
it
?
Here
's
old
Bounderby
always
boasting
that
at
my
age
he
lived
upon
twopence
a
month
,
or
something
of
that
sort
.
Here
's
my
father
drawing
what
he
calls
a
line
,
and
tying
me
down
to
it
from
a
baby
,
neck
and
heels
.
Here
's
my
mother
who
never
has
anything
of
her
own
,
except
her
complaints
.
What
is
a
fellow
to
do
for
money
,
and
where
am
I
to
look
for
it
,
if
not
to
my
sister
?
'
He
was
almost
crying
,
and
scattered
the
buds
about
by
dozens
.
Mr.
Harthouse
took
him
persuasively
by
the
coat
.
