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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 46/761
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She
shook
her
head
,
with
the
same
austere
air
of
luxuriousness
that
she
had
shown
over
-
night
when
speaking
of
the
weather
.
‘
I
shall
never
be
better
any
more
.
It
is
well
for
me
,
Arthur
,
that
I
know
it
and
can
bear
it
.
’
Sitting
with
her
hands
laid
separately
upon
the
desk
,
and
the
tall
cabinet
towering
before
her
,
she
looked
as
if
she
were
performing
on
a
dumb
church
organ
.
Her
son
thought
so
(
it
was
an
old
thought
with
him
)
,
while
he
took
his
seat
beside
it
.
She
opened
a
drawer
or
two
,
looked
over
some
business
papers
,
and
put
them
back
again
.
Her
severe
face
had
no
thread
of
relaxation
in
it
,
by
which
any
explorer
could
have
been
guided
to
the
gloomy
labyrinth
of
her
thoughts
.
‘
Shall
I
speak
of
our
affairs
,
mother
?
Are
you
inclined
to
enter
upon
business
?
’
‘
Am
I
inclined
,
Arthur
?
Rather
,
are
you
?
Your
father
has
been
dead
a
year
and
more
.
I
have
been
at
your
disposal
,
and
waiting
your
pleasure
,
ever
since
.
’
‘
There
was
much
to
arrange
before
I
could
leave
;
and
when
I
did
leave
,
I
travelled
a
little
for
rest
and
relief
.
’
She
turned
her
face
towards
him
,
as
not
having
heard
or
understood
his
last
words
.
‘
For
rest
and
relief
.
’
She
glanced
round
the
sombre
room
,
and
appeared
from
the
motion
of
her
lips
to
repeat
the
words
to
herself
,
as
calling
it
to
witness
how
little
of
either
it
afforded
her
.
