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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 78/761
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Arthur
Clennam
stood
in
the
street
,
waiting
to
ask
some
passer
-
by
what
place
that
was
.
He
suffered
a
few
people
to
pass
him
in
whose
face
there
was
no
encouragement
to
make
the
inquiry
,
and
still
stood
pausing
in
the
street
,
when
an
old
man
came
up
and
turned
into
the
courtyard
.
He
stooped
a
good
deal
,
and
plodded
along
in
a
slow
pre
-
occupied
manner
,
which
made
the
bustling
London
thoroughfares
no
very
safe
resort
for
him
.
He
was
dirtily
and
meanly
dressed
,
in
a
threadbare
coat
,
once
blue
,
reaching
to
his
ankles
and
buttoned
to
his
chin
,
where
it
vanished
in
the
pale
ghost
of
a
velvet
collar
.
A
piece
of
red
cloth
with
which
that
phantom
had
been
stiffened
in
its
lifetime
was
now
laid
bare
,
and
poked
itself
up
,
at
the
back
of
the
old
man
’
s
neck
,
into
a
confusion
of
grey
hair
and
rusty
stock
and
buckle
which
altogether
nearly
poked
his
hat
off
.
A
greasy
hat
it
was
,
and
a
napless
;
impending
over
his
eyes
,
cracked
and
crumpled
at
the
brim
,
and
with
a
wisp
of
pocket
-
handkerchief
dangling
out
below
it
.
His
trousers
were
so
long
and
loose
,
and
his
shoes
so
clumsy
and
large
,
that
he
shuffled
like
an
elephant
;
though
how
much
of
this
was
gait
,
and
how
much
trailing
cloth
and
leather
,
no
one
could
have
told
.
Under
one
arm
he
carried
a
limp
and
worn
-
out
case
,
containing
some
wind
instrument
;
in
the
same
hand
he
had
a
pennyworth
of
snuff
in
a
little
packet
of
whitey
-
brown
paper
,
from
which
he
slowly
comforted
his
poor
blue
old
nose
with
a
lengthened
-
out
pinch
,
as
Arthur
Clennam
looked
at
him
.
To
this
old
man
crossing
the
court
-
yard
,
he
preferred
his
inquiry
,
touching
him
on
the
shoulder
.
The
old
man
stopped
and
looked
round
,
with
the
expression
in
his
weak
grey
eyes
of
one
whose
thoughts
had
been
far
off
,
and
who
was
a
little
dull
of
hearing
also
.
‘
Pray
,
sir
,
’
said
Arthur
,
repeating
his
question
,
‘
what
is
this
place
?
’
‘
Ay
!
This
place
?
’
returned
the
old
man
,
staying
his
pinch
of
snuff
on
its
road
,
and
pointing
at
the
place
without
looking
at
it
.
‘
This
is
the
Marshalsea
,
sir
.
’
‘
The
debtors
’
prison
?
’
‘
Sir
,
’
said
the
old
man
,
with
the
air
of
deeming
it
not
quite
necessary
to
insist
upon
that
designation
,
‘
the
debtors
’
prison
.
’
He
turned
himself
about
,
and
went
on
.
‘
I
beg
your
pardon
,
’
said
Arthur
,
stopping
him
once
more
,
‘
but
will
you
allow
me
to
ask
you
another
question
?
Can
any
one
go
in
here
?
’
