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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 165/761
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’
And
why
,
Clennam
asked
,
as
he
turned
his
eyes
upon
the
fire
,
bent
his
brows
,
and
considered
again
;
why
did
she
suppose
that
?
‘
I
have
met
him
twice
.
Both
times
near
home
.
Both
times
at
night
,
when
I
was
going
back
.
Both
times
I
thought
(
though
that
may
easily
be
my
mistake
)
,
that
he
hardly
looked
as
if
he
had
met
me
by
accident
.
’
‘
Did
he
say
anything
?
’
‘
No
;
he
only
nodded
and
put
his
head
on
one
side
.
’
‘
The
devil
take
his
head
!
’
mused
Clennam
,
still
looking
at
the
fire
;
‘
it
’
s
always
on
one
side
.
’
He
roused
himself
to
persuade
her
to
put
some
wine
to
her
lips
,
and
to
touch
something
to
eat
—
it
was
very
difficult
,
she
was
so
timid
and
shy
—
and
then
said
,
musing
again
:
‘
Is
my
mother
at
all
changed
to
you
?
’
‘
Oh
,
not
at
all
.
She
is
just
the
same
.
I
wondered
whether
I
had
better
tell
her
my
history
.
I
wondered
whether
I
might
—
I
mean
,
whether
you
would
like
me
to
tell
her
.
I
wondered
,
’
said
Little
Dorrit
,
looking
at
him
in
a
suppliant
way
,
and
gradually
withdrawing
her
eyes
as
he
looked
at
her
,
‘
whether
you
would
advise
me
what
I
ought
to
do
.
’
‘
Little
Dorrit
,
’
said
Clennam
;
and
the
phrase
had
already
begun
,
between
these
two
,
to
stand
for
a
hundred
gentle
phrases
,
according
to
the
varying
tone
and
connection
in
which
it
was
used
;
‘
do
nothing
.
I
will
have
some
talk
with
my
old
friend
,
Mrs
Affery
.
Do
nothing
,
Little
Dorrit
—
except
refresh
yourself
with
such
means
as
there
are
here
.
I
entreat
you
to
do
that
.
’
