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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 246/247
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'
It
never
occurred
to
me
before
,
sir
,
'
returned
Mrs.
Sparsit
;
'
but
now
you
mention
it
,
should
think
it
highly
probable
.
'
'
Then
suppose
you
try
,
ma'am
,
'
said
Bounderby
,
laying
an
envelope
with
a
cheque
in
it
in
her
little
basket
.
'
You
can
take
your
own
time
for
going
,
ma'am
;
but
perhaps
in
the
meanwhile
,
it
will
be
more
agreeable
to
a
lady
of
your
powers
of
mind
,
to
eat
her
meals
by
herself
,
and
not
to
be
intruded
upon
.
I
really
ought
to
apologise
to
you
--
being
only
Josiah
Bounderby
of
Coketown
--
for
having
stood
in
your
light
so
long
.
'
'
Pray
do
n't
name
it
,
sir
,
'
returned
Mrs.
Sparsit
.
'
If
that
portrait
could
speak
,
sir
--
but
it
has
the
advantage
over
the
original
of
not
possessing
the
power
of
committing
itself
and
disgusting
others
,
--
it
would
testify
,
that
a
long
period
has
elapsed
since
I
first
habitually
addressed
it
as
the
picture
of
a
Noodle
.
Nothing
that
a
Noodle
does
,
can
awaken
surprise
or
indignation
;
the
proceedings
of
a
Noodle
can
only
inspire
contempt
.
'
Thus
saying
,
Mrs.
Sparsit
,
with
her
Roman
features
like
a
medal
struck
to
commemorate
her
scorn
of
Mr.
Bounderby
,
surveyed
him
fixedly
from
head
to
foot
,
swept
disdainfully
past
him
,
and
ascended
the
staircase
.
Mr.
Bounderby
closed
the
door
,
and
stood
before
the
fire
;
projecting
himself
after
his
old
explosive
manner
into
his
portrait
--
and
into
futurity
.
Into
how
much
of
futurity
?
He
saw
Mrs.
Sparsit
fighting
out
a
daily
fight
at
the
points
of
all
the
weapons
in
the
female
armoury
,
with
the
grudging
,
smarting
,
peevish
,
tormenting
Lady
Scadgers
,
still
laid
up
in
bed
with
her
mysterious
leg
,
and
gobbling
her
insufficient
income
down
by
about
the
middle
of
every
quarter
,
in
a
mean
little
airless
lodging
,
a
mere
closet
for
one
,
a
mere
crib
for
two
;
but
did
he
see
more
?
Did
he
catch
any
glimpse
of
himself
making
a
show
of
Bitzer
to
strangers
,
as
the
rising
young
man
,
so
devoted
to
his
master
's
great
merits
,
who
had
won
young
Tom
's
place
,
and
had
almost
captured
young
Tom
himself
,
in
the
times
when
by
various
rascals
he
was
spirited
away
?
Did
he
see
any
faint
reflection
of
his
own
image
making
a
vain-glorious
will
,
whereby
five-and-twenty
Humbugs
,
past
five-and-fifty
years
of
age
,
each
taking
upon
himself
the
name
,
Josiah
Bounderby
of
Coketown
,
should
for
ever
dine
in
Bounderby
Hall
,
for
ever
lodge
in
Bounderby
buildings
,
for
ever
attend
a
Bounderby
chapel
,
for
ever
go
to
sleep
under
a
Bounderby
chaplain
,
for
ever
be
supported
out
of
a
Bounderby
estate
,
and
for
ever
nauseate
all
healthy
stomachs
,
with
a
vast
amount
of
Bounderby
balderdash
and
bluster
?
Had
he
any
prescience
of
the
day
,
five
years
to
come
,
when
Josiah
Bounderby
of
Coketown
was
to
die
of
a
fit
in
the
Coketown
street
,
and
this
same
precious
will
was
to
begin
its
long
career
of
quibble
,
plunder
,
false
pretences
,
vile
example
,
little
service
and
much
law
?
Probably
not
.
Yet
the
portrait
was
to
see
it
all
out
.
Here
was
Mr.
Gradgrind
on
the
same
day
,
and
in
the
same
hour
,
sitting
thoughtful
in
his
own
room
.
How
much
of
futurity
did
he
see
?
Did
he
see
himself
,
a
white-haired
decrepit
man
,
bending
his
hitherto
inflexible
theories
to
appointed
circumstances
;
making
his
facts
and
figures
subservient
to
Faith
,
Hope
,
and
Charity
;
and
no
longer
trying
to
grind
that
Heavenly
trio
in
his
dusty
little
mills
?
Did
he
catch
sight
of
himself
,
therefore
much
despised
by
his
late
political
associates
?
Did
he
see
them
,
in
the
era
of
its
being
quite
settled
that
the
national
dustmen
have
only
to
do
with
one
another
,
and
owe
no
duty
to
an
abstraction
called
a
People
,
'
taunting
the
honourable
gentleman
'
with
this
and
with
that
and
with
what
not
,
five
nights
a-week
,
until
the
small
hours
of
the
morning
?
Probably
he
had
that
much
foreknowledge
,
knowing
his
men
.
Here
was
Louisa
on
the
night
of
the
same
day
,
watching
the
fire
as
in
days
of
yore
,
though
with
a
gentler
and
a
humbler
face
.
How
much
of
the
future
might
arise
before
her
vision
?
Broadsides
in
the
streets
,
signed
with
her
father
's
name
,
exonerating
the
late
Stephen
Blackpool
,
weaver
,
from
misplaced
suspicion
,
and
publishing
the
guilt
of
his
own
son
,
with
such
extenuation
as
his
years
and
temptation
(
he
could
not
bring
himself
to
add
,
his
education
)
might
beseech
;
were
of
the
Present
.
So
,
Stephen
Blackpool
's
tombstone
,
with
her
father
's
record
of
his
death
,
was
almost
of
the
Present
,
for
she
knew
it
was
to
be
.
These
things
she
could
plainly
see
.
