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- Чарльз Диккенс
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They
were
about
thirty
in
company
,
and
all
talking
;
but
necessarily
in
groups
.
Father
and
Mother
Meagles
sat
with
their
daughter
between
them
,
the
last
three
on
one
side
of
the
table
:
on
the
opposite
side
sat
Mr
Clennam
;
a
tall
French
gentleman
with
raven
hair
and
beard
,
of
a
swart
and
terrible
,
not
to
say
genteelly
diabolical
aspect
,
but
who
had
shown
himself
the
mildest
of
men
;
and
a
handsome
young
Englishwoman
,
travelling
quite
alone
,
who
had
a
proud
observant
face
,
and
had
either
withdrawn
herself
from
the
rest
or
been
avoided
by
the
rest
—
nobody
,
herself
excepted
perhaps
,
could
have
quite
decided
which
.
The
rest
of
the
party
were
of
the
usual
materials
:
travellers
on
business
,
and
travellers
for
pleasure
;
officers
from
India
on
leave
;
merchants
in
the
Greek
and
Turkey
trades
;
a
clerical
English
husband
in
a
meek
strait
-
waistcoat
,
on
a
wedding
trip
with
his
young
wife
;
a
majestic
English
mama
and
papa
,
of
the
patrician
order
,
with
a
family
of
three
growing
-
up
daughters
,
who
were
keeping
a
journal
for
the
confusion
of
their
fellow
-
creatures
;
and
a
deaf
old
English
mother
,
tough
in
travel
,
with
a
very
decidedly
grown
-
up
daughter
indeed
,
which
daughter
went
sketching
about
the
universe
in
the
expectation
of
ultimately
toning
herself
off
into
the
married
state
.
The
reserved
Englishwoman
took
up
Mr
Meagles
in
his
last
remark
.
‘
Do
you
mean
that
a
prisoner
forgives
his
prison
?
’
said
she
,
slowly
and
with
emphasis
.
‘
That
was
my
speculation
,
Miss
Wade
.
I
don
’
t
pretend
to
know
positively
how
a
prisoner
might
feel
.
I
never
was
one
before
.
’
‘
Mademoiselle
doubts
,
’
said
the
French
gentleman
in
his
own
language
,
‘
it
’
s
being
so
easy
to
forgive
?
’
‘
I
do
.
’
Pet
had
to
translate
this
passage
to
Mr
Meagles
,
who
never
by
any
accident
acquired
any
knowledge
whatever
of
the
language
of
any
country
into
which
he
travelled
.
‘
Oh
!
’
said
he
.
‘
Dear
me
!
But
that
’
s
a
pity
,
isn
’
t
it
?
’
‘
That
I
am
not
credulous
?
’
said
Miss
Wade
.
