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- Чарльз Диккенс
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‘
Don
’
t
look
so
startled
.
No
,
Amy
,
not
the
worst
of
it
.
I
have
come
back
,
you
see
;
but
—
don
’
t
look
so
startled
—
I
have
come
back
in
what
I
may
call
a
new
way
.
I
am
off
the
volunteer
list
altogether
.
I
am
in
now
,
as
one
of
the
regulars
.
’
‘
Oh
!
Don
’
t
say
you
are
a
prisoner
,
Tip
!
Don
’
t
,
don
’
t
!
’
‘
Well
,
I
don
’
t
want
to
say
it
,
’
he
returned
in
a
reluctant
tone
;
‘
but
if
you
can
’
t
understand
me
without
my
saying
it
,
what
am
I
to
do
?
I
am
in
for
forty
pound
odd
.
’
For
the
first
time
in
all
those
years
,
she
sunk
under
her
cares
.
She
cried
,
with
her
clasped
hands
lifted
above
her
head
,
that
it
would
kill
their
father
if
he
ever
knew
it
;
and
fell
down
at
Tip
’
s
graceless
feet
.
It
was
easier
for
Tip
to
bring
her
to
her
senses
than
for
her
to
bring
him
to
understand
that
the
Father
of
the
Marshalsea
would
be
beside
himself
if
he
knew
the
truth
.
The
thing
was
incomprehensible
to
Tip
,
and
altogether
a
fanciful
notion
.
He
yielded
to
it
in
that
light
only
,
when
he
submitted
to
her
entreaties
,
backed
by
those
of
his
uncle
and
sister
.
There
was
no
want
of
precedent
for
his
return
;
it
was
accounted
for
to
the
father
in
the
usual
way
;
and
the
collegians
,
with
a
better
comprehension
of
the
pious
fraud
than
Tip
,
supported
it
loyally
.
This
was
the
life
,
and
this
the
history
,
of
the
child
of
the
Marshalsea
at
twenty
-
two
.
With
a
still
surviving
attachment
to
the
one
miserable
yard
and
block
of
houses
as
her
birthplace
and
home
,
she
passed
to
and
fro
in
it
shrinkingly
now
,
with
a
womanly
consciousness
that
she
was
pointed
out
to
every
one
.
Since
she
had
begun
to
work
beyond
the
walls
,
she
had
found
it
necessary
to
conceal
where
she
lived
,
and
to
come
and
go
as
secretly
as
she
could
,
between
the
free
city
and
the
iron
gates
,
outside
of
which
she
had
never
slept
in
her
life
Her
original
timidity
had
grown
with
this
concealment
,
and
her
light
step
and
her
little
figure
shunned
the
thronged
streets
while
they
passed
along
them
.
Worldly
wise
in
hard
and
poor
necessities
,
she
was
innocent
in
all
things
else
.
Innocent
,
in
the
mist
through
which
she
saw
her
father
,
and
the
prison
,
and
the
turbid
living
river
that
flowed
through
it
and
flowed
on
.
This
was
the
life
,
and
this
the
history
,
of
Little
Dorrit
;
now
going
home
upon
a
dull
September
evening
,
observed
at
a
distance
by
Arthur
Clennam
.
This
was
the
life
,
and
this
the
history
,
of
Little
Dorrit
;
turning
at
the
end
of
London
Bridge
,
recrossing
it
,
going
back
again
,
passing
on
to
Saint
George
’
s
Church
,
turning
back
suddenly
once
more
,
and
flitting
in
at
the
open
outer
gate
and
little
court
-
yard
of
the
Marshalsea
.
