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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 122/761
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Mr
Meagles
was
hot
and
despondent
for
about
five
minutes
,
and
then
began
to
cool
and
clear
up
.
‘
Come
,
come
!
’
said
he
.
‘
We
shall
not
make
this
the
better
by
being
grim
.
Where
do
you
think
of
going
,
Dan
?
’
‘
I
shall
go
back
to
the
factory
,
’
said
Dan
.
‘
Why
then
,
we
’
ll
all
go
back
to
the
factory
,
or
walk
in
that
direction
,
’
returned
Mr
Meagles
cheerfully
.
‘
Mr
Clennam
won
’
t
be
deterred
by
its
being
in
Bleeding
Heart
Yard
.
’
‘
Bleeding
Heart
Yard
?
’
said
Clennam
.
‘
I
want
to
go
there
.
’
‘
So
much
the
better
,
’
cried
Mr
Meagles
‘
Come
along
!
’
As
they
went
along
,
certainly
one
of
the
party
,
and
probably
more
than
one
,
thought
that
Bleeding
Heart
Yard
was
no
inappropriate
destination
for
a
man
who
had
been
in
official
correspondence
with
my
lords
and
the
Barnacles
—
and
perhaps
had
a
misgiving
also
that
Britannia
herself
might
come
to
look
for
lodgings
in
Bleeding
Heart
Yard
some
ugly
day
or
other
,
if
she
over
-
did
the
Circumlocution
Office
.
Alate
,
dull
autumn
night
was
closing
in
upon
the
river
Saone
.
The
stream
,
like
a
sullied
looking
-
glass
in
a
gloomy
place
,
reflected
the
clouds
heavily
;
and
the
low
banks
leaned
over
here
and
there
,
as
if
they
were
half
curious
,
and
half
afraid
,
to
see
their
darkening
pictures
in
the
water
.
The
flat
expanse
of
country
about
Chalons
lay
a
long
heavy
streak
,
occasionally
made
a
little
ragged
by
a
row
of
poplar
trees
against
the
wrathful
sunset
.
On
the
banks
of
the
river
Saone
it
was
wet
,
depressing
,
solitary
;
and
the
night
deepened
fast
.
One
man
slowly
moving
on
towards
Chalons
was
the
only
visible
figure
in
the
landscape
.
Cain
might
have
looked
as
lonely
and
avoided
.
With
an
old
sheepskin
knapsack
at
his
back
,
and
a
rough
,
unbarked
stick
cut
out
of
some
wood
in
his
hand
;
miry
,
footsore
,
his
shoes
and
gaiters
trodden
out
,
his
hair
and
beard
untrimmed
;
the
cloak
he
carried
over
his
shoulder
,
and
the
clothes
he
wore
,
sodden
with
wet
;
limping
along
in
pain
and
difficulty
;
he
looked
as
if
the
clouds
were
hurrying
from
him
,
as
if
the
wail
of
the
wind
and
the
shuddering
of
the
grass
were
directed
against
him
,
as
if
the
low
mysterious
plashing
of
the
water
murmured
at
him
,
as
if
the
fitful
autumn
night
were
disturbed
by
him
.
