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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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Her
eyes
met
his
as
she
looked
up
wonderingly
into
his
face
,
and
she
thought
that
although
his
were
sharp
eyes
,
he
was
a
brighter
and
gentler
-
looking
man
than
she
had
supposed
at
dinner
.
His
eyes
were
on
her
hand
again
directly
,
and
her
opportunity
of
confirming
or
correcting
the
impression
was
gone
.
‘
Now
,
the
deuce
is
in
it
,
’
muttered
Pancks
,
tracing
out
a
line
in
her
hand
with
his
clumsy
finger
,
‘
if
this
isn
’
t
me
in
the
corner
here
!
What
do
I
want
here
?
What
’
s
behind
me
?
’
He
carried
his
finger
slowly
down
to
the
wrist
,
and
round
the
wrist
,
and
affected
to
look
at
the
back
of
the
hand
for
what
was
behind
him
.
‘
Is
it
any
harm
?
’
asked
Little
Dorrit
,
smiling
.
‘
Deuce
a
bit
!
’
said
Pancks
.
‘
What
do
you
think
it
’
s
worth
?
’
‘
I
ought
to
ask
you
that
.
I
am
not
the
fortune
-
teller
.
’
‘
True
,
’
said
Pancks
.
‘
What
’
s
it
worth
?
You
shall
live
to
see
,
Miss
Dorrit
.
’
Releasing
the
hand
by
slow
degrees
,
he
drew
all
his
fingers
through
his
prongs
of
hair
,
so
that
they
stood
up
in
their
most
portentous
manner
;
and
repeated
slowly
,
‘
Remember
what
I
say
,
Miss
Dorrit
.
You
shall
live
to
see
.
’
She
could
not
help
showing
that
she
was
much
surprised
,
if
it
were
only
by
his
knowing
so
much
about
her
.
