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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 621/761
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‘
A
prisoner
,
and
—
Altro
!
I
believe
yes
!
—
an
,
’
Mr
Baptist
crept
closer
again
to
whisper
it
,
‘
Assassin
!
’
Clennam
fell
back
as
if
the
word
had
struck
him
a
blow
:
so
terrible
did
it
make
his
mother
’
s
communication
with
the
man
appear
.
Cavalletto
dropped
on
one
knee
,
and
implored
him
,
with
a
redundancy
of
gesticulation
,
to
hear
what
had
brought
himself
into
such
foul
company
.
He
told
with
perfect
truth
how
it
had
come
of
a
little
contraband
trading
,
and
how
he
had
in
time
been
released
from
prison
,
and
how
he
had
gone
away
from
those
antecedents
.
How
,
at
the
house
of
entertainment
called
the
Break
of
Day
at
Chalons
on
the
Saone
,
he
had
been
awakened
in
his
bed
at
night
by
the
same
assassin
,
then
assuming
the
name
of
Lagnier
,
though
his
name
had
formerly
been
Rigaud
;
how
the
assassin
had
proposed
that
they
should
join
their
fortunes
together
;
how
he
held
the
assassin
in
such
dread
and
aversion
that
he
had
fled
from
him
at
daylight
,
and
how
he
had
ever
since
been
haunted
by
the
fear
of
seeing
the
assassin
again
and
being
claimed
by
him
as
an
acquaintance
.
When
he
had
related
this
,
with
an
emphasis
and
poise
on
the
word
,
‘
assassin
,
’
peculiarly
belonging
to
his
own
language
,
and
which
did
not
serve
to
render
it
less
terrible
to
Clennam
,
he
suddenly
sprang
to
his
feet
,
pounced
upon
the
bill
again
,
and
with
a
vehemence
that
would
have
been
absolute
madness
in
any
man
of
Northern
origin
,
cried
‘
Behold
the
same
assassin
!
Here
he
is
!
’
In
his
passionate
raptures
,
he
at
first
forgot
the
fact
that
he
had
lately
seen
the
assassin
in
London
.
On
his
remembering
it
,
it
suggested
hope
to
Clennam
that
the
recognition
might
be
of
later
date
than
the
night
of
the
visit
at
his
mother
’
s
;
but
Cavalletto
was
too
exact
and
clear
about
time
and
place
,
to
leave
any
opening
for
doubt
that
it
had
preceded
that
occasion
.
‘
Listen
,
’
said
Arthur
,
very
seriously
.
‘
This
man
,
as
we
have
read
here
,
has
wholly
disappeared
.
’
‘
Of
it
I
am
well
content
!
’
said
Cavalletto
,
raising
his
eyes
piously
‘
A
thousand
thanks
to
Heaven
!
Accursed
assassin
!
’
‘
Not
so
,
’
returned
Clennam
;
‘
for
until
something
more
is
heard
of
him
,
I
can
never
know
an
hour
’
s
peace
.
’
‘
Enough
,
Benefactor
;
that
is
quite
another
thing
.
A
million
of
excuses
!
’
‘
Now
,
Cavalletto
,
’
said
Clennam
,
gently
turning
him
by
the
arm
,
so
that
they
looked
into
each
other
’
s
eyes
.
‘
I
am
certain
that
for
the
little
I
have
been
able
to
do
for
you
,
you
are
the
most
sincerely
grateful
of
men
.
’
