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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 28/761
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‘
You
are
not
sorry
,
’
said
the
girl
.
‘
You
are
glad
.
You
know
you
are
glad
.
I
never
was
like
this
but
twice
over
in
the
quarantine
yonder
;
and
both
times
you
found
me
.
I
am
afraid
of
you
.
’
‘
Afraid
of
me
?
’
‘
Yes
.
You
seem
to
come
like
my
own
anger
,
my
own
malice
,
my
own
—
whatever
it
is
—
I
don
’
t
know
what
it
is
.
But
I
am
ill
-
used
,
I
am
ill
-
used
,
I
am
ill
-
used
!
’
Here
the
sobs
and
the
tears
,
and
the
tearing
hand
,
which
had
all
been
suspended
together
since
the
first
surprise
,
went
on
together
anew
.
The
visitor
stood
looking
at
her
with
a
strange
attentive
smile
.
It
was
wonderful
to
see
the
fury
of
the
contest
in
the
girl
,
and
the
bodily
struggle
she
made
as
if
she
were
rent
by
the
Demons
of
old
.
‘
I
am
younger
than
she
is
by
two
or
three
years
,
and
yet
it
’
s
me
that
looks
after
her
,
as
if
I
was
old
,
and
it
’
s
she
that
’
s
always
petted
and
called
Baby
!
I
detest
the
name
.
I
hate
her
!
They
make
a
fool
of
her
,
they
spoil
her
.
She
thinks
of
nothing
but
herself
,
she
thinks
no
more
of
me
than
if
I
was
a
stock
and
a
stone
!
’
So
the
girl
went
on
.
‘
You
must
have
patience
.
’
‘
I
won
’
t
have
patience
!
’
‘
If
they
take
much
care
of
themselves
,
and
little
or
none
of
you
,
you
must
not
mind
it
.
’
I
will
mind
it
.
’
‘
Hush
!
Be
more
prudent
.
You
forget
your
dependent
position
.
’
