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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 584/761
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There
was
a
draped
doorway
,
but
no
door
;
and
as
he
stopped
here
,
looking
in
unseen
,
he
felt
a
pang
.
Surely
not
like
jealousy
?
For
why
like
jealousy
?
There
was
only
his
daughter
and
his
brother
there
:
he
,
with
his
chair
drawn
to
the
hearth
,
enjoying
the
warmth
of
the
evening
wood
fire
;
she
seated
at
a
little
table
,
busied
with
some
embroidery
work
.
Allowing
for
the
great
difference
in
the
still
-
life
of
the
picture
,
the
figures
were
much
the
same
as
of
old
;
his
brother
being
sufficiently
like
himself
to
represent
himself
,
for
a
moment
,
in
the
composition
.
So
had
he
sat
many
a
night
,
over
a
coal
fire
far
away
;
so
had
she
sat
,
devoted
to
him
.
Yet
surely
there
was
nothing
to
be
jealous
of
in
the
old
miserable
poverty
.
Whence
,
then
,
the
pang
in
his
heart
?
‘
Do
you
know
,
uncle
,
I
think
you
are
growing
young
again
?
’
Her
uncle
shook
his
head
and
said
,
‘
Since
when
,
my
dear
;
since
when
?
’
‘
I
think
,
’
returned
Little
Dorrit
,
plying
her
needle
,
‘
that
you
have
been
growing
younger
for
weeks
past
.
So
cheerful
,
uncle
,
and
so
ready
,
and
so
interested
.
’
‘
My
dear
child
—
all
you
.
’
‘
All
me
,
uncle
!
’
‘
Yes
,
yes
.
You
have
done
me
a
world
of
good
.
You
have
been
so
considerate
of
me
,
and
so
tender
with
me
,
and
so
delicate
in
trying
to
hide
your
attentions
from
me
,
that
I
—
well
,
well
,
well
!
It
’
s
treasured
up
,
my
darling
,
treasured
up
.
’
‘
There
is
nothing
in
it
but
your
own
fresh
fancy
,
uncle
,
’
said
Little
Dorrit
,
cheerfully
.
‘
Well
,
well
,
well
!
’
murmured
the
old
man
.
‘
Thank
God
!
’
