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- Чарльз Диккенс
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The
lights
were
turned
out
,
and
the
work
went
on
.
The
rain
fell
,
and
the
Smoke-serpents
,
submissive
to
the
curse
of
all
that
tribe
,
trailed
themselves
upon
the
earth
.
In
the
waste-yard
outside
,
the
steam
from
the
escape
pipe
,
the
litter
of
barrels
and
old
iron
,
the
shining
heaps
of
coals
,
the
ashes
everywhere
,
were
shrouded
in
a
veil
of
mist
and
rain
.
The
work
went
on
,
until
the
noon-bell
rang
.
More
clattering
upon
the
pavements
.
The
looms
,
and
wheels
,
and
Hands
all
out
of
gear
for
an
hour
.
Stephen
came
out
of
the
hot
mill
into
the
damp
wind
and
cold
wet
streets
,
haggard
and
worn
.
He
turned
from
his
own
class
and
his
own
quarter
,
taking
nothing
but
a
little
bread
as
he
walked
along
,
towards
the
hill
on
which
his
principal
employer
lived
,
in
a
red
house
with
black
outside
shutters
,
green
inside
blinds
,
a
black
street
door
,
up
two
white
steps
,
Bounderby
(
in
letters
very
like
himself
)
upon
a
brazen
plate
,
and
a
round
brazen
door-handle
underneath
it
,
like
a
brazen
full-stop
.
Mr.
Bounderby
was
at
his
lunch
.
So
Stephen
had
expected
.
Would
his
servant
say
that
one
of
the
Hands
begged
leave
to
speak
to
him
?
Message
in
return
,
requiring
name
of
such
Hand
.
Stephen
Blackpool
.
There
was
nothing
troublesome
against
Stephen
Blackpool
;
yes
,
he
might
come
in
.
Stephen
Blackpool
in
the
parlour
.
Mr.
Bounderby
(
whom
he
just
knew
by
sight
)
,
at
lunch
on
chop
and
sherry
.
Mrs.
Sparsit
netting
at
the
fireside
,
in
a
side-saddle
attitude
,
with
one
foot
in
a
cotton
stirrup
.
It
was
a
part
,
at
once
of
Mrs.
Sparsit
's
dignity
and
service
,
not
to
lunch
.
She
supervised
the
meal
officially
,
but
implied
that
in
her
own
stately
person
she
considered
lunch
a
weakness
.
'
Now
,
Stephen
,
'
said
Mr.
Bounderby
,
'
what
's
the
matter
with
you
?
'
Stephen
made
a
bow
.
Not
a
servile
one
--
these
Hands
will
never
do
that
!
Lord
bless
you
,
sir
,
you
'll
never
catch
them
at
that
,
if
they
have
been
with
you
twenty
years
!
--
and
,
as
a
complimentary
toilet
for
Mrs.
Sparsit
,
tucked
his
neckerchief
ends
into
his
waistcoat
.
'
Now
,
you
know
,
'
said
Mr.
Bounderby
,
taking
some
sherry
,
'
we
have
never
had
any
difficulty
with
you
,
and
you
have
never
been
one
of
the
unreasonable
ones
.
You
do
n't
expect
to
be
set
up
in
a
coach
and
six
,
and
to
be
fed
on
turtle
soup
and
venison
,
with
a
gold
spoon
,
as
a
good
many
of
'em
do
!
'
Mr.
Bounderby
always
represented
this
to
be
the
sole
,
immediate
,
and
direct
object
of
any
Hand
who
was
not
entirely
satisfied
;
'
and
therefore
I
know
already
that
you
have
not
come
here
to
make
a
complaint
.
Now
,
you
know
,
I
am
certain
of
that
,
beforehand
.
'
'
No
,
sir
,
sure
I
ha
'
not
coom
for
nowt
o
'
th
'
kind
.
'
