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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 159/761
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No
childhood
;
no
youth
,
except
for
one
remembrance
;
that
one
remembrance
proved
,
only
that
day
,
to
be
a
piece
of
folly
.
It
was
a
misfortune
to
him
,
trifle
as
it
might
have
been
to
another
.
For
,
while
all
that
was
hard
and
stern
in
his
recollection
,
remained
Reality
on
being
proved
—
was
obdurate
to
the
sight
and
touch
,
and
relaxed
nothing
of
its
old
indomitable
grimness
—
the
one
tender
recollection
of
his
experience
would
not
bear
the
same
test
,
and
melted
away
.
He
had
foreseen
this
,
on
the
former
night
,
when
he
had
dreamed
with
waking
eyes
,
but
he
had
not
felt
it
then
;
and
he
had
now
.
He
was
a
dreamer
in
such
wise
,
because
he
was
a
man
who
had
,
deep
-
rooted
in
his
nature
,
a
belief
in
all
the
gentle
and
good
things
his
life
had
been
without
.
Bred
in
meanness
and
hard
dealing
,
this
had
rescued
him
to
be
a
man
of
honourable
mind
and
open
hand
.
Bred
in
coldness
and
severity
,
this
had
rescued
him
to
have
a
warm
and
sympathetic
heart
.
Bred
in
a
creed
too
darkly
audacious
to
pursue
,
through
its
process
of
reserving
the
making
of
man
in
the
image
of
his
Creator
to
the
making
of
his
Creator
in
the
image
of
an
erring
man
,
this
had
rescued
him
to
judge
not
,
and
in
humility
to
be
merciful
,
and
have
hope
and
charity
.
And
this
saved
him
still
from
the
whimpering
weakness
and
cruel
selfishness
of
holding
that
because
such
a
happiness
or
such
a
virtue
had
not
come
into
his
little
path
,
or
worked
well
for
him
,
therefore
it
was
not
in
the
great
scheme
,
but
was
reducible
,
when
found
in
appearance
,
to
the
basest
elements
.
A
disappointed
mind
he
had
,
but
a
mind
too
firm
and
healthy
for
such
unwholesome
air
Leaving
himself
in
the
dark
,
it
could
rise
into
the
light
,
seeing
it
shine
on
others
and
hailing
it
.
Therefore
,
he
sat
before
his
dying
fire
,
sorrowful
to
think
upon
the
way
by
which
he
had
come
to
that
night
,
yet
not
strewing
poison
on
the
way
by
which
other
men
had
come
to
it
.
That
he
should
have
missed
so
much
,
and
at
his
time
of
life
should
look
so
far
about
him
for
any
staff
to
bear
him
company
upon
his
downward
journey
and
cheer
it
,
was
a
just
regret
.
He
looked
at
the
fire
from
which
the
blaze
departed
,
from
which
the
afterglow
subsided
,
in
which
the
ashes
turned
grey
,
from
which
they
dropped
to
dust
,
and
thought
,
‘
How
soon
I
too
shall
pass
through
such
changes
,
and
be
gone
!
’
To
review
his
life
was
like
descending
a
green
tree
in
fruit
and
flower
,
and
seeing
all
the
branches
wither
and
drop
off
,
one
by
one
,
as
he
came
down
towards
them
.
‘
From
the
unhappy
suppression
of
my
youngest
days
,
through
the
rigid
and
unloving
home
that
followed
them
,
through
my
departure
,
my
long
exile
,
my
return
,
my
mother
’
s
welcome
,
my
intercourse
with
her
since
,
down
to
the
afternoon
of
this
day
with
poor
Flora
,
’
said
Arthur
Clennam
,
‘
what
have
I
found
!
’
His
door
was
softly
opened
,
and
these
spoken
words
startled
him
,
and
came
as
if
they
were
an
answer
:
‘
Little
Dorrit
.
’
