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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 31/761
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‘
Deed
,
sir
?
Chaymaid
!
Gelen
box
num
seven
,
not
go
sleep
here
,
gome
.
’
He
sat
in
the
same
place
as
the
day
died
,
looking
at
the
dull
houses
opposite
,
and
thinking
,
if
the
disembodied
spirits
of
former
inhabitants
were
ever
conscious
of
them
,
how
they
must
pity
themselves
for
their
old
places
of
imprisonment
.
Sometimes
a
face
would
appear
behind
the
dingy
glass
of
a
window
,
and
would
fade
away
into
the
gloom
as
if
it
had
seen
enough
of
life
and
had
vanished
out
of
it
.
Presently
the
rain
began
to
fall
in
slanting
lines
between
him
and
those
houses
,
and
people
began
to
collect
under
cover
of
the
public
passage
opposite
,
and
to
look
out
hopelessly
at
the
sky
as
the
rain
dropped
thicker
and
faster
.
Then
wet
umbrellas
began
to
appear
,
draggled
skirts
,
and
mud
.
What
the
mud
had
been
doing
with
itself
,
or
where
it
came
from
,
who
could
say
?
But
it
seemed
to
collect
in
a
moment
,
as
a
crowd
will
,
and
in
five
minutes
to
have
splashed
all
the
sons
and
daughters
of
Adam
.
The
lamplighter
was
going
his
rounds
now
;
and
as
the
fiery
jets
sprang
up
under
his
touch
,
one
might
have
fancied
them
astonished
at
being
suffered
to
introduce
any
show
of
brightness
into
such
a
dismal
scene
.
Mr
Arthur
Clennam
took
up
his
hat
and
buttoned
his
coat
,
and
walked
out
.
In
the
country
,
the
rain
would
have
developed
a
thousand
fresh
scents
,
and
every
drop
would
have
had
its
bright
association
with
some
beautiful
form
of
growth
or
life
.
In
the
city
,
it
developed
only
foul
stale
smells
,
and
was
a
sickly
,
lukewarm
,
dirt
-
stained
,
wretched
addition
to
the
gutters
.
He
crossed
by
St
Paul
’
s
and
went
down
,
at
a
long
angle
,
almost
to
the
water
’
s
edge
,
through
some
of
the
crooked
and
descending
streets
which
lie
(
and
lay
more
crookedly
and
closely
then
)
between
the
river
and
Cheapside
.
Passing
,
now
the
mouldy
hall
of
some
obsolete
Worshipful
Company
,
now
the
illuminated
windows
of
a
Congregationless
Church
that
seemed
to
be
waiting
for
some
adventurous
Belzoni
to
dig
it
out
and
discover
its
history
;
passing
silent
warehouses
and
wharves
,
and
here
and
there
a
narrow
alley
leading
to
the
river
,
where
a
wretched
little
bill
,
FOUND
DROWNED
,
was
weeping
on
the
wet
wall
;
he
came
at
last
to
the
house
he
sought
.
An
old
brick
house
,
so
dingy
as
to
be
all
but
black
,
standing
by
itself
within
a
gateway
.
Before
it
,
a
square
court
-
yard
where
a
shrub
or
two
and
a
patch
of
grass
were
as
rank
(
which
is
saying
much
)
as
the
iron
railings
enclosing
them
were
rusty
;
behind
it
,
a
jumble
of
roots
.
It
was
a
double
house
,
with
long
,
narrow
,
heavily
-
framed
windows
.
Many
years
ago
,
it
had
had
it
in
its
mind
to
slide
down
sideways
;
it
had
been
propped
up
,
however
,
and
was
leaning
on
some
half
-
dozen
gigantic
crutches
:
which
gymnasium
for
the
neighbouring
cats
,
weather
-
stained
,
smoke
-
blackened
,
and
overgrown
with
weeds
,
appeared
in
these
latter
days
to
be
no
very
sure
reliance
.
‘
Nothing
changed
,
’
said
the
traveller
,
stopping
to
look
round
.
‘
Dark
and
miserable
as
ever
.
A
light
in
my
mother
’
s
window
,
which
seems
never
to
have
been
extinguished
since
I
came
home
twice
a
year
from
school
,
and
dragged
my
box
over
this
pavement
.
Well
,
well
,
well
!
’
He
went
up
to
the
door
,
which
had
a
projecting
canopy
in
carved
work
of
festooned
jack
-
towels
and
children
’
s
heads
with
water
on
the
brain
,
designed
after
a
once
-
popular
monumental
pattern
,
and
knocked
.
A
shuffling
step
was
soon
heard
on
the
stone
floor
of
the
hall
,
and
the
door
was
opened
by
an
old
man
,
bent
and
dried
,
but
with
keen
eyes
.
He
had
a
candle
in
his
hand
,
and
he
held
it
up
for
a
moment
to
assist
his
keen
eyes
.
‘
Ah
,
Mr
Arthur
?
’
he
said
,
without
any
emotion
,
‘
you
are
come
at
last
?
Step
in
.
’
