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- Чарльз Диккенс
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"
Estella
,
take
him
down
.
Let
him
have
something
to
eat
,
and
let
him
roam
and
look
about
him
while
he
eats
.
Go
,
Pip
.
"
I
followed
the
candle
down
,
as
I
had
followed
the
candle
up
,
and
she
stood
it
in
the
place
where
we
had
found
it
.
Until
she
opened
the
side
entrance
,
I
had
fancied
,
without
thinking
about
it
,
that
it
must
necessarily
be
night
-
time
.
The
rush
of
the
daylight
quite
confounded
me
,
and
made
me
feel
as
if
I
had
been
in
the
candlelight
of
the
strange
room
many
hours
.
"
You
are
to
wait
here
,
you
boy
,
"
said
Estella
;
and
disappeared
and
closed
the
door
.
I
took
the
opportunity
of
being
alone
in
the
courtyard
to
look
at
my
coarse
hands
and
my
common
boots
.
My
opinion
of
those
accessories
was
not
favorable
.
They
had
never
troubled
me
before
,
but
they
troubled
me
now
,
as
vulgar
appendages
.
I
determined
to
ask
Joe
why
he
had
ever
taught
me
to
call
those
picture
-
cards
Jacks
,
which
ought
to
be
called
knaves
.
I
wished
Joe
had
been
rather
more
genteelly
brought
up
,
and
then
I
should
have
been
so
too
.
She
came
back
,
with
some
bread
and
meat
and
a
little
mug
of
beer
.
She
put
the
mug
down
on
the
stones
of
the
yard
,
and
gave
me
the
bread
and
meat
without
looking
at
me
,
as
insolently
as
if
I
were
a
dog
in
disgrace
.
I
was
so
humiliated
,
hurt
,
spurned
,
offended
,
angry
,
sorry
—
I
cannot
hit
upon
the
right
name
for
the
smart
—
God
knows
what
its
name
was
—
that
tears
started
to
my
eyes
.
The
moment
they
sprang
there
,
the
girl
looked
at
me
with
a
quick
delight
in
having
been
the
cause
of
them
.
This
gave
me
power
to
keep
them
back
and
to
look
at
her
:
so
,
she
gave
a
contemptuous
toss
—
but
with
a
sense
,
I
thought
,
of
having
made
too
sure
that
I
was
so
wounded
—
and
left
me
.
But
when
she
was
gone
,
I
looked
about
me
for
a
place
to
hide
my
face
in
,
and
got
behind
one
of
the
gates
in
the
brewery
-
lane
,
and
leaned
my
sleeve
against
the
wall
there
,
and
leaned
my
forehead
on
it
and
cried
.
As
I
cried
,
I
kicked
the
wall
,
and
took
a
hard
twist
at
my
hair
;
so
bitter
were
my
feelings
,
and
so
sharp
was
the
smart
without
a
name
,
that
needed
counteraction
.
My
sister
’
s
bringing
up
had
made
me
sensitive
.
In
the
little
world
in
which
children
have
their
existence
whosoever
brings
them
up
,
there
is
nothing
so
finely
perceived
and
so
finely
felt
as
injustice
.
It
may
be
only
small
injustice
that
the
child
can
be
exposed
to
;
but
the
child
is
small
,
and
its
world
is
small
,
and
its
rocking
-
horse
stands
as
many
hands
high
,
according
to
scale
,
as
a
big
-
boned
Irish
hunter
.
Within
myself
,
I
had
sustained
,
from
my
babyhood
,
a
perpetual
conflict
with
injustice
.
I
had
known
,
from
the
time
when
I
could
speak
,
that
my
sister
,
in
her
capricious
and
violent
coercion
,
was
unjust
to
me
.
I
had
cherished
a
profound
conviction
that
her
bringing
me
up
by
hand
gave
her
no
right
to
bring
me
up
by
jerks
.
Through
all
my
punishments
,
disgraces
,
fasts
,
and
vigils
,
and
other
penitential
performances
,
I
had
nursed
this
assurance
;
and
to
my
communing
so
much
with
it
,
in
a
solitary
and
unprotected
way
,
I
in
great
part
refer
the
fact
that
I
was
morally
timid
and
very
sensitive
.
I
got
rid
of
my
injured
feelings
for
the
time
by
kicking
them
into
the
brewery
wall
,
and
twisting
them
out
of
my
hair
,
and
then
I
smoothed
my
face
with
my
sleeve
,
and
came
from
behind
the
gate
.
The
bread
and
meat
were
acceptable
,
and
the
beer
was
warming
and
tingling
,
and
I
was
soon
in
spirits
to
look
about
me
.
To
be
sure
,
it
was
a
deserted
place
,
down
to
the
pigeon
-
house
in
the
brewery
-
yard
,
which
had
been
blown
crooked
on
its
pole
by
some
high
wind
,
and
would
have
made
the
pigeons
think
themselves
at
sea
,
if
there
had
been
any
pigeons
there
to
be
rocked
by
it
.
But
there
were
no
pigeons
in
the
dove
-
cot
,
no
horses
in
the
stable
,
no
pigs
in
the
sty
,
no
malt
in
the
storehouse
,
no
smells
of
grains
and
beer
in
the
copper
or
the
vat
.
All
the
uses
and
scents
of
the
brewery
might
have
evaporated
with
its
last
reek
of
smoke
.
