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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 107/761
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Arthur
Clennam
came
to
a
squeezed
house
,
with
a
ramshackle
bowed
front
,
little
dingy
windows
,
and
a
little
dark
area
like
a
damp
waistcoat
-
pocket
,
which
he
found
to
be
number
twenty
-
four
,
Mews
Street
,
Grosvenor
Square
.
To
the
sense
of
smell
the
house
was
like
a
sort
of
bottle
filled
with
a
strong
distillation
of
Mews
;
and
when
the
footman
opened
the
door
,
he
seemed
to
take
the
stopper
out
.
The
footman
was
to
the
Grosvenor
Square
footmen
,
what
the
house
was
to
the
Grosvenor
Square
houses
.
Admirable
in
his
way
,
his
way
was
a
back
and
a
bye
way
.
His
gorgeousness
was
not
unmixed
with
dirt
;
and
both
in
complexion
and
consistency
he
had
suffered
from
the
closeness
of
his
pantry
.
A
sallow
flabbiness
was
upon
him
when
he
took
the
stopper
out
,
and
presented
the
bottle
to
Mr
Clennam
’
s
nose
.
‘
Be
so
good
as
to
give
that
card
to
Mr
Tite
Barnacle
,
and
to
say
that
I
have
just
now
seen
the
younger
Mr
Barnacle
,
who
recommended
me
to
call
here
.
’
The
footman
(
who
had
as
many
large
buttons
with
the
Barnacle
crest
upon
them
on
the
flaps
of
his
pockets
,
as
if
he
were
the
family
strong
box
,
and
carried
the
plate
and
jewels
about
with
him
buttoned
up
)
pondered
over
the
card
a
little
;
then
said
,
‘
Walk
in
.
’
It
required
some
judgment
to
do
it
without
butting
the
inner
hall
-
door
open
,
and
in
the
consequent
mental
confusion
and
physical
darkness
slipping
down
the
kitchen
stairs
.
The
visitor
,
however
,
brought
himself
up
safely
on
the
door
-
mat
.
Still
the
footman
said
‘
Walk
in
,
’
so
the
visitor
followed
him
.
At
the
inner
hall
-
door
,
another
bottle
seemed
to
be
presented
and
another
stopper
taken
out
.
This
second
vial
appeared
to
be
filled
with
concentrated
provisions
and
extract
of
Sink
from
the
pantry
.
After
a
skirmish
in
the
narrow
passage
,
occasioned
by
the
footman
’
s
opening
the
door
of
the
dismal
dining
-
room
with
confidence
,
finding
some
one
there
with
consternation
,
and
backing
on
the
visitor
with
disorder
,
the
visitor
was
shut
up
,
pending
his
announcement
,
in
a
close
back
parlour
.
There
he
had
an
opportunity
of
refreshing
himself
with
both
the
bottles
at
once
,
looking
out
at
a
low
blinding
wall
three
feet
off
,
and
speculating
on
the
number
of
Barnacle
families
within
the
bills
of
mortality
who
lived
in
such
hutches
of
their
own
free
flunkey
choice
.
Mr
Barnacle
would
see
him
.
Would
he
walk
up
-
stairs
?
He
would
,
and
he
did
;
and
in
the
drawing
-
room
,
with
his
leg
on
a
rest
,
he
found
Mr
Barnacle
himself
,
the
express
image
and
presentment
of
How
not
to
do
it
.
Mr
Barnacle
dated
from
a
better
time
,
when
the
country
was
not
so
parsimonious
and
the
Circumlocution
Office
was
not
so
badgered
.
He
wound
and
wound
folds
of
white
cravat
round
his
neck
,
as
he
wound
and
wound
folds
of
tape
and
paper
round
the
neck
of
the
country
.
His
wristbands
and
collar
were
oppressive
;
his
voice
and
manner
were
oppressive
.
He
had
a
large
watch
-
chain
and
bunch
of
seals
,
a
coat
buttoned
up
to
inconvenience
,
a
waistcoat
buttoned
up
to
inconvenience
,
an
unwrinkled
pair
of
trousers
,
a
stiff
pair
of
boots
.
He
was
altogether
splendid
,
massive
,
overpowering
,
and
impracticable
.
He
seemed
to
have
been
sitting
for
his
portrait
to
Sir
Thomas
Lawrence
all
the
days
of
his
life
.
‘
Mr
Clennam
?
’
said
Mr
Barnacle
.
‘
Be
seated
.
’
