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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 155/761
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‘
You
’
d
have
heard
of
something
to
your
advantage
.
’
‘
Indeed
!
I
have
heard
of
little
enough
to
my
advantage
for
some
time
.
’
‘
There
’
s
a
Cornish
property
going
a
begging
,
sir
,
and
not
a
Cornish
Clennam
to
have
it
for
the
asking
,
’
said
Pancks
,
taking
his
note
-
book
from
his
breast
pocket
and
putting
it
in
again
.
‘
I
turn
off
here
.
I
wish
you
good
night
.
’
‘
Good
night
!
’
said
Clennam
.
But
the
Tug
,
suddenly
lightened
,
and
untrammelled
by
having
any
weight
in
tow
,
was
already
puffing
away
into
the
distance
.
They
had
crossed
Smithfield
together
,
and
Clennam
was
left
alone
at
the
corner
of
Barbican
.
He
had
no
intention
of
presenting
himself
in
his
mother
’
s
dismal
room
that
night
,
and
could
not
have
felt
more
depressed
and
cast
away
if
he
had
been
in
a
wilderness
.
He
turned
slowly
down
Aldersgate
Street
,
and
was
pondering
his
way
along
towards
Saint
Paul
’
s
,
purposing
to
come
into
one
of
the
great
thoroughfares
for
the
sake
of
their
light
and
life
,
when
a
crowd
of
people
flocked
towards
him
on
the
same
pavement
,
and
he
stood
aside
against
a
shop
to
let
them
pass
.
As
they
came
up
,
he
made
out
that
they
were
gathered
around
a
something
that
was
carried
on
men
’
s
shoulders
.
He
soon
saw
that
it
was
a
litter
,
hastily
made
of
a
shutter
or
some
such
thing
;
and
a
recumbent
figure
upon
it
,
and
the
scraps
of
conversation
in
the
crowd
,
and
a
muddy
bundle
carried
by
one
man
,
and
a
muddy
hat
carried
by
another
,
informed
him
that
an
accident
had
occurred
.
The
litter
stopped
under
a
lamp
before
it
had
passed
him
half
-
a
-
dozen
paces
,
for
some
readjustment
of
the
burden
;
and
,
the
crowd
stopping
too
,
he
found
himself
in
the
midst
of
the
array
.
‘
An
accident
going
to
the
Hospital
?
’
he
asked
an
old
man
beside
him
,
who
stood
shaking
his
head
,
inviting
conversation
.
‘
Yes
,
’
said
the
man
,
‘
along
of
them
Mails
.
They
ought
to
be
prosecuted
and
fined
,
them
Mails
.
They
come
a
racing
out
of
Lad
Lane
and
Wood
Street
at
twelve
or
fourteen
mile
a
hour
,
them
Mails
do
.
The
only
wonder
is
,
that
people
ain
’
t
killed
oftener
by
them
Mails
.
’
‘
This
person
is
not
killed
,
I
hope
?
’
‘
I
don
’
t
know
!
’
said
the
man
,
‘
it
an
’
t
for
the
want
of
a
will
in
them
Mails
,
if
he
an
’
t
.
