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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 672/761
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‘
I
hadn
’
t
,
’
John
declared
,
‘
no
,
I
hadn
’
t
,
and
I
never
had
the
audaciousness
to
think
,
I
am
sure
,
that
all
was
anything
but
lost
.
I
hadn
’
t
,
no
,
why
should
I
say
I
hadn
’
t
if
I
ever
had
,
any
hope
that
it
was
possible
to
be
so
blest
,
not
after
the
words
that
passed
,
not
even
if
barriers
insurmountable
had
not
been
raised
!
But
is
that
a
reason
why
I
am
to
have
no
memory
,
why
I
am
to
have
no
thoughts
,
why
I
am
to
have
no
sacred
spots
,
nor
anything
?
’
‘
What
can
you
mean
?
’
cried
Arthur
.
‘
It
’
s
all
very
well
to
trample
on
it
,
sir
,
’
John
went
on
,
scouring
a
very
prairie
of
wild
words
,
‘
if
a
person
can
make
up
his
mind
to
be
guilty
of
the
action
.
It
’
s
all
very
well
to
trample
on
it
,
but
it
’
s
there
.
It
may
be
that
it
couldn
’
t
be
trampled
upon
if
it
wasn
’
t
there
.
But
that
doesn
’
t
make
it
gentlemanly
,
that
doesn
’
t
make
it
honourable
,
that
doesn
’
t
justify
throwing
a
person
back
upon
himself
after
he
has
struggled
and
strived
out
of
himself
like
a
butterfly
.
The
world
may
sneer
at
a
turnkey
,
but
he
’
s
a
man
—
when
he
isn
’
t
a
woman
,
which
among
female
criminals
he
’
s
expected
to
be
.
’
Ridiculous
as
the
incoherence
of
his
talk
was
,
there
was
yet
a
truthfulness
in
Young
John
’
s
simple
,
sentimental
character
,
and
a
sense
of
being
wounded
in
some
very
tender
respect
,
expressed
in
his
burning
face
and
in
the
agitation
of
his
voice
and
manner
,
which
Arthur
must
have
been
cruel
to
disregard
.
He
turned
his
thoughts
back
to
the
starting
-
point
of
this
unknown
injury
;
and
in
the
meantime
Young
John
,
having
rolled
his
green
packet
pretty
round
,
cut
it
carefully
into
three
pieces
,
and
laid
it
on
a
plate
as
if
it
were
some
particular
delicacy
.
‘
It
seems
to
me
just
possible
,
’
said
Arthur
,
when
he
had
retraced
the
conversation
to
the
water
-
cresses
and
back
again
,
‘
that
you
have
made
some
reference
to
Miss
Dorrit
.
’
‘
It
is
just
possible
,
sir
,
’
returned
John
Chivery
.
‘
I
don
’
t
understand
it
.
I
hope
I
may
not
be
so
unlucky
as
to
make
you
think
I
mean
to
offend
you
again
,
for
I
never
have
meant
to
offend
you
yet
,
when
I
say
I
don
’
t
understand
it
.
’
‘
Sir
,
’
said
Young
John
,
‘
will
you
have
the
perfidy
to
deny
that
you
know
and
long
have
known
that
I
felt
towards
Miss
Dorrit
,
call
it
not
the
presumption
of
love
,
but
adoration
and
sacrifice
?
’
‘
Indeed
,
John
,
I
will
not
have
any
perfidy
if
I
know
it
;
why
you
should
suspect
me
of
it
I
am
at
a
loss
to
think
.
Did
you
ever
hear
from
Mrs
Chivery
,
your
mother
,
that
I
went
to
see
her
once
?
’
