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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 33/761
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‘
How
weak
am
I
,
’
said
Arthur
Clennam
,
when
he
was
gone
,
‘
that
I
could
shed
tears
at
this
reception
!
I
,
who
have
never
experienced
anything
else
;
who
have
never
expected
anything
else
.
’
He
not
only
could
,
but
did
.
It
was
the
momentary
yielding
of
a
nature
that
had
been
disappointed
from
the
dawn
of
its
perceptions
,
but
had
not
quite
given
up
all
its
hopeful
yearnings
yet
.
He
subdued
it
,
took
up
the
candle
,
and
examined
the
room
.
The
old
articles
of
furniture
were
in
their
old
places
;
the
Plagues
of
Egypt
,
much
the
dimmer
for
the
fly
and
smoke
plagues
of
London
,
were
framed
and
glazed
upon
the
walls
.
There
was
the
old
cellaret
with
nothing
in
it
,
lined
with
lead
,
like
a
sort
of
coffin
in
compartments
;
there
was
the
old
dark
closet
,
also
with
nothing
in
it
,
of
which
he
had
been
many
a
time
the
sole
contents
,
in
days
of
punishment
,
when
he
had
regarded
it
as
the
veritable
entrance
to
that
bourne
to
which
the
tract
had
found
him
galloping
.
There
was
the
large
,
hard
-
featured
clock
on
the
sideboard
,
which
he
used
to
see
bending
its
figured
brows
upon
him
with
a
savage
joy
when
he
was
behind
-
hand
with
his
lessons
,
and
which
,
when
it
was
wound
up
once
a
week
with
an
iron
handle
,
used
to
sound
as
if
it
were
growling
in
ferocious
anticipation
of
the
miseries
into
which
it
would
bring
him
.
But
here
was
the
old
man
come
back
,
saying
,
‘
Arthur
,
I
’
ll
go
before
and
light
you
.
’
Arthur
followed
him
up
the
staircase
,
which
was
panelled
off
into
spaces
like
so
many
mourning
tablets
,
into
a
dim
bed
-
chamber
,
the
floor
of
which
had
gradually
so
sunk
and
settled
,
that
the
fire
-
place
was
in
a
dell
.
On
a
black
bier
-
like
sofa
in
this
hollow
,
propped
up
behind
with
one
great
angular
black
bolster
like
the
block
at
a
state
execution
in
the
good
old
times
,
sat
his
mother
in
a
widow
’
s
dress
.
She
and
his
father
had
been
at
variance
from
his
earliest
remembrance
.
To
sit
speechless
himself
in
the
midst
of
rigid
silence
,
glancing
in
dread
from
the
one
averted
face
to
the
other
,
had
been
the
peacefullest
occupation
of
his
childhood
.
She
gave
him
one
glassy
kiss
,
and
four
stiff
fingers
muffled
in
worsted
.
This
embrace
concluded
,
he
sat
down
on
the
opposite
side
of
her
little
table
.
There
was
a
fire
in
the
grate
,
as
there
had
been
night
and
day
for
fifteen
years
.
There
was
a
kettle
on
the
hob
,
as
there
had
been
night
and
day
for
fifteen
years
.
There
was
a
little
mound
of
damped
ashes
on
the
top
of
the
fire
,
and
another
little
mound
swept
together
under
the
grate
,
as
there
had
been
night
and
day
for
fifteen
years
.
There
was
a
smell
of
black
dye
in
the
airless
room
,
which
the
fire
had
been
drawing
out
of
the
crape
and
stuff
of
the
widow
’
s
dress
for
fifteen
months
,
and
out
of
the
bier
-
like
sofa
for
fifteen
years
.
‘
Mother
,
this
is
a
change
from
your
old
active
habits
.
’
‘
The
world
has
narrowed
to
these
dimensions
,
Arthur
,
’
she
replied
,
glancing
round
the
room
.
‘
It
is
well
for
me
that
I
never
set
my
heart
upon
its
hollow
vanities
.
’
The
old
influence
of
her
presence
and
her
stern
strong
voice
,
so
gathered
about
her
son
,
that
he
felt
conscious
of
a
renewal
of
the
timid
chill
and
reserve
of
his
childhood
.
‘
Do
you
never
leave
your
room
,
mother
?
’
