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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 65/761
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They
were
pretty
far
divided
,
going
their
several
ways
,
when
the
Plasterer
called
out
,
‘
I
say
!
—
sir
!
’
and
came
back
to
him
.
‘
It
ain
’
t
much
,
’
said
the
Plasterer
,
putting
a
little
pile
of
halfpence
in
his
hand
,
‘
but
it
’
s
well
meant
.
’
The
Father
of
the
Marshalsea
had
never
been
offered
tribute
in
copper
yet
.
His
children
often
had
,
and
with
his
perfect
acquiescence
it
had
gone
into
the
common
purse
to
buy
meat
that
he
had
eaten
,
and
drink
that
he
had
drunk
;
but
fustian
splashed
with
white
lime
,
bestowing
halfpence
on
him
,
front
to
front
,
was
new
.
‘
How
dare
you
!
’
he
said
to
the
man
,
and
feebly
burst
into
tears
.
The
Plasterer
turned
him
towards
the
wall
,
that
his
face
might
not
be
seen
;
and
the
action
was
so
delicate
,
and
the
man
was
so
penetrated
with
repentance
,
and
asked
pardon
so
honestly
,
that
he
could
make
him
no
less
acknowledgment
than
,
‘
I
know
you
meant
it
kindly
.
Say
no
more
.
’
‘
Bless
your
soul
,
sir
,
’
urged
the
Plasterer
,
‘
I
did
indeed
.
I
’
d
do
more
by
you
than
the
rest
of
‘
em
do
,
I
fancy
.
’
‘
What
would
you
do
?
’
he
asked
‘
I
’
d
come
back
to
see
you
,
after
I
was
let
out
.
’
‘
Give
me
the
money
again
,
’
said
the
other
,
eagerly
,
‘
and
I
’
ll
keep
it
,
and
never
spend
it
.
Thank
you
for
it
,
thank
you
!
I
shall
see
you
again
?
’
‘
If
I
live
a
week
you
shall
.
’
