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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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Her
great
staring
child
tenderly
embraced
her
;
and
having
smoothed
her
hair
,
and
bathed
her
forehead
and
eyes
with
cold
water
(
offices
in
which
her
awkward
hands
became
skilful
)
,
hugged
her
again
,
exulted
in
her
brighter
looks
,
and
stationed
her
in
her
chair
by
the
window
.
Over
against
this
chair
,
Maggy
,
with
apoplectic
exertions
that
were
not
at
all
required
,
dragged
the
box
which
was
her
seat
on
story
-
telling
occasions
,
sat
down
upon
it
,
hugged
her
own
knees
,
and
said
,
with
a
voracious
appetite
for
stories
,
and
with
widely
-
opened
eyes
:
‘
Now
,
Little
Mother
,
let
’
s
have
a
good
‘
un
!
’
‘
What
shall
it
be
about
,
Maggy
?
’
‘
Oh
,
let
’
s
have
a
princess
,
’
said
Maggy
,
‘
and
let
her
be
a
reg
’
lar
one
.
Beyond
all
belief
,
you
know
!
’
Little
Dorrit
considered
for
a
moment
;
and
with
a
rather
sad
smile
upon
her
face
,
which
was
flushed
by
the
sunset
,
began
:
‘
Maggy
,
there
was
once
upon
a
time
a
fine
King
,
and
he
had
everything
he
could
wish
for
,
and
a
great
deal
more
.
He
had
gold
and
silver
,
diamonds
and
rubies
,
riches
of
every
kind
.
He
had
palaces
,
and
he
had
—
’
‘
Hospitals
,
’
interposed
Maggy
,
still
nursing
her
knees
.
‘
Let
him
have
hospitals
,
because
they
’
re
so
comfortable
.
Hospitals
with
lots
of
Chicking
.
’
‘
Yes
,
he
had
plenty
of
them
,
and
he
had
plenty
of
everything
.
’
‘
Plenty
of
baked
potatoes
,
for
instance
?
’
said
Maggy
.
