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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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‘
Can
I
do
less
than
that
,
when
you
are
so
good
!
’
‘
Then
you
will
trust
me
fully
?
Will
have
no
secret
unhappiness
,
or
anxiety
,
concealed
from
me
?
’
‘
Almost
none
.
’
‘
And
you
have
none
now
?
’
She
shook
her
head
.
But
she
was
very
pale
.
‘
When
I
lie
down
to
-
night
,
and
my
thoughts
come
back
—
as
they
will
,
for
they
do
every
night
,
even
when
I
have
not
seen
you
—
to
this
sad
place
,
I
may
believe
that
there
is
no
grief
beyond
this
room
,
now
,
and
its
usual
occupants
,
which
preys
on
Little
Dorrit
’
s
mind
?
’
She
seemed
to
catch
at
these
words
—
that
he
remembered
,
too
,
long
afterwards
—
and
said
,
more
brightly
,
‘
Yes
,
Mr
Clennam
;
yes
,
you
may
!
’
The
crazy
staircase
,
usually
not
slow
to
give
notice
when
any
one
was
coming
up
or
down
,
here
creaked
under
a
quick
tread
,
and
a
further
sound
was
heard
upon
it
,
as
if
a
little
steam
-
engine
with
more
steam
than
it
knew
what
to
do
with
,
were
working
towards
the
room
.
As
it
approached
,
which
it
did
very
rapidly
,
it
laboured
with
increased
energy
;
and
,
after
knocking
at
the
door
,
it
sounded
as
if
it
were
stooping
down
and
snorting
in
at
the
keyhole
.
Before
Maggy
could
open
the
door
,
Mr
Pancks
,
opening
it
from
without
,
stood
without
a
hat
and
with
his
bare
head
in
the
wildest
condition
,
looking
at
Clennam
and
Little
Dorrit
,
over
her
shoulder
.
He
had
a
lighted
cigar
in
his
hand
,
and
brought
with
him
airs
of
ale
and
tobacco
smoke
.
‘
Pancks
the
gipsy
,
’
he
observed
out
of
breath
,
‘
fortune
-
telling
.
’
