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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 221/761
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That
child
had
no
doubts
,
asked
herself
no
question
,
for
she
was
but
too
content
to
see
him
with
a
lustre
round
his
head
.
Poor
dear
,
good
dear
,
truest
,
kindest
,
dearest
,
were
the
only
words
she
had
for
him
,
as
she
hushed
him
to
rest
.
She
never
left
him
all
that
night
.
As
if
she
had
done
him
a
wrong
which
her
tenderness
could
hardly
repair
,
she
sat
by
him
in
his
sleep
,
at
times
softly
kissing
him
with
suspended
breath
,
and
calling
him
in
a
whisper
by
some
endearing
name
At
times
she
stood
aside
so
as
not
to
intercept
the
low
fire
-
light
,
and
,
watching
him
when
it
fell
upon
his
sleeping
face
,
wondered
did
he
look
now
at
all
as
he
had
looked
when
he
was
prosperous
and
happy
;
as
he
had
so
touched
her
by
imagining
that
he
might
look
once
more
in
that
awful
time
.
At
the
thought
of
that
time
,
she
kneeled
beside
his
bed
again
,
and
prayed
,
‘
O
spare
his
life
!
O
save
him
to
me
!
O
look
down
upon
my
dear
,
long
-
suffering
,
unfortunate
,
much
-
changed
,
dear
dear
father
!
’
Not
until
the
morning
came
to
protect
him
and
encourage
him
,
did
she
give
him
a
last
kiss
and
leave
the
small
room
.
When
she
had
stolen
down
-
stairs
,
and
along
the
empty
yard
,
and
had
crept
up
to
her
own
high
garret
,
the
smokeless
housetops
and
the
distant
country
hills
were
discernible
over
the
wall
in
the
clear
morning
.
As
she
gently
opened
the
window
,
and
looked
eastward
down
the
prison
yard
,
the
spikes
upon
the
wall
were
tipped
with
red
,
then
made
a
sullen
purple
pattern
on
the
sun
as
it
came
flaming
up
into
the
heavens
.
The
spikes
had
never
looked
so
sharp
and
cruel
,
nor
the
bars
so
heavy
,
nor
the
prison
space
so
gloomy
and
contracted
.
She
thought
of
the
sunrise
on
rolling
rivers
,
of
the
sunrise
on
wide
seas
,
of
the
sunrise
on
rich
landscapes
,
of
the
sunrise
on
great
forests
where
the
birds
were
waking
and
the
trees
were
rustling
;
and
she
looked
down
into
the
living
grave
on
which
the
sun
had
risen
,
with
her
father
in
it
three
-
and
-
twenty
years
,
and
said
,
in
a
burst
of
sorrow
and
compassion
,
‘
No
,
no
,
I
have
never
seen
him
in
my
life
!
’
If
Young
John
Chivery
had
had
the
inclination
and
the
power
to
write
a
satire
on
family
pride
,
he
would
have
had
no
need
to
go
for
an
avenging
illustration
out
of
the
family
of
his
beloved
.
He
would
have
found
it
amply
in
that
gallant
brother
and
that
dainty
sister
,
so
steeped
in
mean
experiences
,
and
so
loftily
conscious
of
the
family
name
;
so
ready
to
beg
or
borrow
from
the
poorest
,
to
eat
of
anybody
’
s
bread
,
spend
anybody
’
s
money
,
drink
from
anybody
’
s
cup
and
break
it
afterwards
.
To
have
painted
the
sordid
facts
of
their
lives
,
and
they
throughout
invoking
the
death
’
s
head
apparition
of
the
family
gentility
to
come
and
scare
their
benefactors
,
would
have
made
Young
John
a
satirist
of
the
first
water
.
Tip
had
turned
his
liberty
to
hopeful
account
by
becoming
a
billiard
-
marker
.
He
had
troubled
himself
so
little
as
to
the
means
of
his
release
,
that
Clennam
scarcely
needed
to
have
been
at
the
pains
of
impressing
the
mind
of
Mr
Plornish
on
that
subject
.
Whoever
had
paid
him
the
compliment
,
he
very
readily
accepted
the
compliment
with
his
compliments
,
and
there
was
an
end
of
it
.
Issuing
forth
from
the
gate
on
these
easy
terms
,
he
became
a
billiard
-
marker
;
and
now
occasionally
looked
in
at
the
little
skittle
-
ground
in
a
green
Newmarket
coat
(
second
-
hand
)
,
with
a
shining
collar
and
bright
buttons
(
new
)
,
and
drank
the
beer
of
the
Collegians
.
One
solid
stationary
point
in
the
looseness
of
this
gentleman
’
s
character
was
,
that
he
respected
and
admired
his
sister
Amy
.
The
feeling
had
never
induced
him
to
spare
her
a
moment
’
s
uneasiness
,
or
to
put
himself
to
any
restraint
or
inconvenience
on
her
account
;
but
with
that
Marshalsea
taint
upon
his
love
,
he
loved
her
.
The
same
rank
Marshalsea
flavour
was
to
be
recognised
in
his
distinctly
perceiving
that
she
sacrificed
her
life
to
her
father
,
and
in
his
having
no
idea
that
she
had
done
anything
for
himself
.
When
this
spirited
young
man
and
his
sister
had
begun
systematically
to
produce
the
family
skeleton
for
the
overawing
of
the
College
,
this
narrative
cannot
precisely
state
.
Probably
at
about
the
period
when
they
began
to
dine
on
the
College
charity
.
It
is
certain
that
the
more
reduced
and
necessitous
they
were
,
the
more
pompously
the
skeleton
emerged
from
its
tomb
;
and
that
when
there
was
anything
particularly
shabby
in
the
wind
,
the
skeleton
always
came
out
with
the
ghastliest
flourish
.
Little
Dorrit
was
late
on
the
Monday
morning
,
for
her
father
slept
late
,
and
afterwards
there
was
his
breakfast
to
prepare
and
his
room
to
arrange
.
She
had
no
engagement
to
go
out
to
work
,
however
,
and
therefore
stayed
with
him
until
,
with
Maggy
’
s
help
,
she
had
put
everything
right
about
him
,
and
had
seen
him
off
upon
his
morning
walk
(
of
twenty
yards
or
so
)
to
the
coffee
-
house
to
read
the
paper
.
She
then
got
on
her
bonnet
and
went
out
,
having
been
anxious
to
get
out
much
sooner
.
There
was
,
as
usual
,
a
cessation
of
the
small
-
talk
in
the
Lodge
as
she
passed
through
it
;
and
a
Collegian
who
had
come
in
on
Saturday
night
,
received
the
intimation
from
the
elbow
of
a
more
seasoned
Collegian
,
‘
Look
out
.
