-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Крошка Доррит
-
- Стр. 322/761
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
‘
Sometimes
it
has
been
rather
hard
to
live
,
’
said
Little
Dorrit
,
in
her
soft
voice
,
and
timid
uncomplaining
way
;
‘
but
I
think
not
harder
—
as
to
that
—
than
many
people
find
it
.
’
‘
That
’
s
well
said
!
’
Mrs
Clennam
quickly
returned
.
‘
That
’
s
the
truth
!
You
are
a
good
,
thoughtful
girl
.
You
are
a
grateful
girl
too
,
or
I
much
mistake
you
.
’
‘
It
is
only
natural
to
be
that
.
There
is
no
merit
in
being
that
,
’
said
Little
Dorrit
.
‘
I
am
indeed
.
’
Mrs
Clennam
,
with
a
gentleness
of
which
the
dreaming
Affery
had
never
dreamed
her
to
be
capable
,
drew
down
the
face
of
her
little
seamstress
,
and
kissed
her
on
the
forehead
.
‘
Now
go
,
Little
Dorrit
,
’
said
she
,
‘
or
you
will
be
late
,
poor
child
!
’
In
all
the
dreams
Mistress
Affery
had
been
piling
up
since
she
first
became
devoted
to
the
pursuit
,
she
had
dreamed
nothing
more
astonishing
than
this
.
Her
head
ached
with
the
idea
that
she
would
find
the
other
clever
one
kissing
Little
Dorrit
next
,
and
then
the
two
clever
ones
embracing
each
other
and
dissolving
into
tears
of
tenderness
for
all
mankind
.
The
idea
quite
stunned
her
,
as
she
attended
the
light
footsteps
down
the
stairs
,
that
the
house
door
might
be
safely
shut
.
On
opening
it
to
let
Little
Dorrit
out
,
she
found
Mr
Pancks
,
instead
of
having
gone
his
way
,
as
in
any
less
wonderful
place
and
among
less
wonderful
phenomena
he
might
have
been
reasonably
expected
to
do
,
fluttering
up
and
down
the
court
outside
the
house
.
The
moment
he
saw
Little
Dorrit
,
he
passed
her
briskly
,
said
with
his
finger
to
his
nose
(
as
Mrs
Affery
distinctly
heard
)
,
‘
Pancks
the
gipsy
,
fortune
-
telling
,
’
and
went
away
.
‘
Lord
save
us
,
here
’
s
a
gipsy
and
a
fortune
-
teller
in
it
now
!
’
cried
Mistress
Affery
.
‘
What
next
!
’
She
stood
at
the
open
door
,
staggering
herself
with
this
enigma
,
on
a
rainy
,
thundery
evening
.
The
clouds
were
flying
fast
,
and
the
wind
was
coming
up
in
gusts
,
banging
some
neighbouring
shutters
that
had
broken
loose
,
twirling
the
rusty
chimney
-
cowls
and
weather
-
cocks
,
and
rushing
round
and
round
a
confined
adjacent
churchyard
as
if
it
had
a
mind
to
blow
the
dead
citizens
out
of
their
graves
.
The
low
thunder
,
muttering
in
all
quarters
of
the
sky
at
once
,
seemed
to
threaten
vengeance
for
this
attempted
desecration
,
and
to
mutter
,
‘
Let
them
rest
!
Let
them
rest
!
’
