Крошка Доррит/Little Dorrit (Чарльз Диккенс). Страница 48 из 761

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‘

With

what

object

?

’

‘

I

am

coming

to

it

.

’

‘

I

foresee

,

’

she

returned

,

fixing

her

eyes

upon

him

,

‘

what

it

is

.

But

the

Lord

forbid

that

I

should

repine

under

any

visitation

.

In

my

sinfulness

I

merit

bitter

disappointment

,

and

I

accept

it

.

’

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‘

Mother

,

I

grieve

to

hear

you

speak

like

this

,

though

I

have

had

my

apprehensions

that

you

would

—

’

‘

You

knew

I

would

.

You

knew

me

,

’

she

interrupted

.

Her

son

paused

for

a

moment

.

He

had

struck

fire

out

of

her

,

and

was

surprised

.

‘

Well

!

’

she

said

,

relapsing

into

stone

.

‘

Go

on

.

Let

me

hear

.

’

‘

You

have

anticipated

,

mother

,

that

I

decide

for

my

part

,

to

abandon

the

business

.

I

have

done

with

it

.

I

will

not

take

upon

myself

to

advise

you

;

you

will

continue

it

,

I

see

.

If

I

had

any

influence

with

you

,

I

would

simply

use

it

to

soften

your

judgment

of

me

in

causing

you

this

disappointment

:

to

represent

to

you

that

I

have

lived

the

half

of

a

long

term

of

life

,

and

have

never

before

set

my

own

will

against

yours

.

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I

cannot

say

that

I

have

been

able

to

conform

myself

,

in

heart

and

spirit

,

to

your

rules

;

I

cannot

say

that

I

believe

my

forty

years

have

been

profitable

or

pleasant

to

myself

,

or

any

one

;

but

I

have

habitually

submitted

,

and

I

only

ask

you

to

remember

it

.

’

Woe

to

the

suppliant

,

if

such

a

one

there

were

or

ever

had

been

,

who

had

any

concession

to

look

for

in

the

inexorable

face

at

the

cabinet

.

Woe

to

the

defaulter

whose

appeal

lay

to

the

tribunal

where

those

severe

eyes

presided

.

Great

need

had

the

rigid

woman

of

her

mystical

religion

,

veiled

in

gloom

and

darkness

,

with

lightnings

of

cursing

,

vengeance

,

and

destruction

,

flashing

through

the

sable

clouds

.

Forgive

us

our

debts

as

we

forgive

our

debtors

,

was

a

prayer

too

poor

in

spirit

for

her

.

Smite

Thou

my

debtors

,

Lord

,

wither

them

,

crush

them

;

do

Thou

as

I

would

do

,

and

Thou

shalt

have

my

worship

:

this

was

the

impious

tower

of

stone

she

built

up

to

scale

Heaven

.

‘

Have

you

finished

,

Arthur

,

or

have

you

anything

more

to

say

to

me

?

I

think

there

can

be

nothing

else

.

You

have

been

short

,

but

full

of

matter

!

’

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