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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 708/761
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Clennam
shook
his
head
.
‘
“
Tell
him
,
”
’
repeated
John
,
in
a
distinct
,
though
quavering
voice
,
‘
“
that
his
Little
Dorrit
sent
him
her
undying
love
.
”
Now
it
’
s
delivered
.
Have
I
been
honourable
,
sir
?
’
‘
Very
,
very
!
’
‘
Will
you
tell
Miss
Dorrit
I
’
ve
been
honourable
,
sir
?
’
‘
I
will
indeed
.
’
‘
There
’
s
my
hand
,
sir
,
’
said
John
,
‘
and
I
’
ll
stand
by
you
forever
!
’
After
a
hearty
squeeze
,
he
disappeared
with
the
same
cautious
creak
upon
the
stair
,
crept
shoeless
over
the
pavement
of
the
yard
,
and
,
locking
the
gates
behind
him
,
passed
out
into
the
front
where
he
had
left
his
shoes
.
If
the
same
way
had
been
paved
with
burning
ploughshares
,
it
is
not
at
all
improbable
that
John
would
have
traversed
it
with
the
same
devotion
,
for
the
same
purpose
.
The
last
day
of
the
appointed
week
touched
the
bars
of
the
Marshalsea
gate
.
Black
,
all
night
,
since
the
gate
had
clashed
upon
Little
Dorrit
,
its
iron
stripes
were
turned
by
the
early
-
glowing
sun
into
stripes
of
gold
.
Far
aslant
across
the
city
,
over
its
jumbled
roofs
,
and
through
the
open
tracery
of
its
church
towers
,
struck
the
long
bright
rays
,
bars
of
the
prison
of
this
lower
world
.
Throughout
the
day
the
old
house
within
the
gateway
remained
untroubled
by
any
visitors
.
But
,
when
the
sun
was
low
,
three
men
turned
in
at
the
gateway
and
made
for
the
dilapidated
house
.
Rigaud
was
the
first
,
and
walked
by
himself
smoking
.
Mr
Baptist
was
the
second
,
and
jogged
close
after
him
,
looking
at
no
other
object
.
Mr
Pancks
was
the
third
,
and
carried
his
hat
under
his
arm
for
the
liberation
of
his
restive
hair
;
the
weather
being
extremely
hot
.
They
all
came
together
at
the
door
-
steps
.
