-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Крошка Доррит
-
- Стр. 637/761
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
‘
So
you
have
been
seeing
the
premises
,
seeing
the
premises
—
premises
—
seeing
the
premises
!
’
It
was
not
in
itself
a
jewel
of
benevolence
or
wisdom
,
yet
he
made
it
an
exemplar
of
both
that
one
would
have
liked
to
have
a
copy
of
.
That
illustrious
man
and
great
national
ornament
,
Mr
Merdle
,
continued
his
shining
course
.
It
began
to
be
widely
understood
that
one
who
had
done
society
the
admirable
service
of
making
so
much
money
out
of
it
,
could
not
be
suffered
to
remain
a
commoner
.
A
baronetcy
was
spoken
of
with
confidence
;
a
peerage
was
frequently
mentioned
.
Rumour
had
it
that
Mr
Merdle
had
set
his
golden
face
against
a
baronetcy
;
that
he
had
plainly
intimated
to
Lord
Decimus
that
a
baronetcy
was
not
enough
for
him
;
that
he
had
said
,
‘
No
—
a
Peerage
,
or
plain
Merdle
.
’
This
was
reported
to
have
plunged
Lord
Decimus
as
nigh
to
his
noble
chin
in
a
slough
of
doubts
as
so
lofty
a
person
could
be
sunk
.
For
the
Barnacles
,
as
a
group
of
themselves
in
creation
,
had
an
idea
that
such
distinctions
belonged
to
them
;
and
that
when
a
soldier
,
sailor
,
or
lawyer
became
ennobled
,
they
let
him
in
,
as
it
were
,
by
an
act
of
condescension
,
at
the
family
door
,
and
immediately
shut
it
again
.
Not
only
(
said
Rumour
)
had
the
troubled
Decimus
his
own
hereditary
part
in
this
impression
,
but
he
also
knew
of
several
Barnacle
claims
already
on
the
file
,
which
came
into
collision
with
that
of
the
master
spirit
.
Right
or
wrong
,
Rumour
was
very
busy
;
and
Lord
Decimus
,
while
he
was
,
or
was
supposed
to
be
,
in
stately
excogitation
of
the
difficulty
,
lent
her
some
countenance
by
taking
,
on
several
public
occasions
,
one
of
those
elephantine
trots
of
his
through
a
jungle
of
overgrown
sentences
,
waving
Mr
Merdle
about
on
his
trunk
as
Gigantic
Enterprise
,
The
Wealth
of
England
,
Elasticity
,
Credit
,
Capital
,
Prosperity
,
and
all
manner
of
blessings
.
So
quietly
did
the
mowing
of
the
old
scythe
go
on
,
that
fully
three
months
had
passed
unnoticed
since
the
two
English
brothers
had
been
laid
in
one
tomb
in
the
strangers
’
cemetery
at
Rome
.
Mr
and
Mrs
Sparkler
were
established
in
their
own
house
:
a
little
mansion
,
rather
of
the
Tite
Barnacle
class
,
quite
a
triumph
of
inconvenience
,
with
a
perpetual
smell
in
it
of
the
day
before
yesterday
’
s
soup
and
coach
-
horses
,
but
extremely
dear
,
as
being
exactly
in
the
centre
of
the
habitable
globe
.
In
this
enviable
abode
(
and
envied
it
really
was
by
many
people
)
,
Mrs
Sparkler
had
intended
to
proceed
at
once
to
the
demolition
of
the
Bosom
,
when
active
hostilities
had
been
suspended
by
the
arrival
of
the
Courier
with
his
tidings
of
death
.
Mrs
Sparkler
,
who
was
not
unfeeling
,
had
received
them
with
a
violent
burst
of
grief
,
which
had
lasted
twelve
hours
;
after
which
,
she
had
arisen
to
see
about
her
mourning
,
and
to
take
every
precaution
that
could
ensure
its
being
as
becoming
as
Mrs
Merdle
’
s
.
A
gloom
was
then
cast
over
more
than
one
distinguished
family
(
according
to
the
politest
sources
of
intelligence
)
,
and
the
Courier
went
back
again
.
Mr
and
Mrs
Sparkler
had
been
dining
alone
,
with
their
gloom
cast
over
them
,
and
Mrs
Sparkler
reclined
on
a
drawing
-
room
sofa
.
It
was
a
hot
summer
Sunday
evening
.
The
residence
in
the
centre
of
the
habitable
globe
,
at
all
times
stuffed
and
close
as
if
it
had
an
incurable
cold
in
its
head
,
was
that
evening
particularly
stifling
.
The
bells
of
the
churches
had
done
their
worst
in
the
way
of
clanging
among
the
unmelodious
echoes
of
the
streets
,
and
the
lighted
windows
of
the
churches
had
ceased
to
be
yellow
in
the
grey
dusk
,
and
had
died
out
opaque
black
.
Mrs
Sparkler
,
lying
on
her
sofa
,
looking
through
an
open
window
at
the
opposite
side
of
a
narrow
street
over
boxes
of
mignonette
and
flowers
,
was
tired
of
the
view
.
Mrs
Sparkler
,
looking
at
another
window
where
her
husband
stood
in
the
balcony
,
was
tired
of
that
view
.
Mrs
Sparkler
,
looking
at
herself
in
her
mourning
,
was
even
tired
of
that
view
:
though
,
naturally
,
not
so
tired
of
that
as
of
the
other
two
.
‘
It
’
s
like
lying
in
a
well
,
’
said
Mrs
Sparkler
,
changing
her
position
fretfully
.
‘
Dear
me
,
Edmund
,
if
you
have
anything
to
say
,
why
don
’
t
you
say
it
?
’
Mr
Sparkler
might
have
replied
with
ingenuousness
,
‘
My
life
,
I
have
nothing
to
say
.
’
But
,
as
the
repartee
did
not
occur
to
him
,
he
contented
himself
with
coming
in
from
the
balcony
and
standing
at
the
side
of
his
wife
’
s
couch
.
‘
Good
gracious
,
Edmund
!
’
said
Mrs
Sparkler
more
fretfully
still
,
‘
you
are
absolutely
putting
mignonette
up
your
nose
!
Pray
don
’
t
!
’
Mr
Sparkler
,
in
absence
of
mind
—
perhaps
in
a
more
literal
absence
of
mind
than
is
usually
understood
by
the
phrase
—
had
smelt
so
hard
at
a
sprig
in
his
hand
as
to
be
on
the
verge
of
the
offence
in
question
.
He
smiled
,
said
,
‘
I
ask
your
pardon
,
my
dear
,
’
and
threw
it
out
of
window
.
