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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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‘
Put
the
bottle
by
with
the
rest
,
’
said
Rigaud
.
The
little
man
obeyed
his
orders
,
and
stood
ready
to
give
him
a
lighted
match
;
for
he
was
now
rolling
his
tobacco
into
cigarettes
by
the
aid
of
little
squares
of
paper
which
had
been
brought
in
with
it
.
‘
Here
!
You
may
have
one
.
’
‘
A
thousand
thanks
,
my
master
!
’
John
Baptist
said
in
his
own
language
,
and
with
the
quick
conciliatory
manner
of
his
own
countrymen
.
Monsieur
Rigaud
arose
,
lighted
a
cigarette
,
put
the
rest
of
his
stock
into
a
breast
-
pocket
,
and
stretched
himself
out
at
full
length
upon
the
bench
.
Cavalletto
sat
down
on
the
pavement
,
holding
one
of
his
ankles
in
each
hand
,
and
smoking
peacefully
.
There
seemed
to
be
some
uncomfortable
attraction
of
Monsieur
Rigaud
’
s
eyes
to
the
immediate
neighbourhood
of
that
part
of
the
pavement
where
the
thumb
had
been
in
the
plan
.
They
were
so
drawn
in
that
direction
,
that
the
Italian
more
than
once
followed
them
to
and
back
from
the
pavement
in
some
surprise
.
‘
What
an
infernal
hole
this
is
!
’
said
Monsieur
Rigaud
,
breaking
a
long
pause
.
‘
Look
at
the
light
of
day
.
Day
?
the
light
of
yesterday
week
,
the
light
of
six
months
ago
,
the
light
of
six
years
ago
.
So
slack
and
dead
!
’
It
came
languishing
down
a
square
funnel
that
blinded
a
window
in
the
staircase
wall
,
through
which
the
sky
was
never
seen
—
nor
anything
else
.
‘
Cavalletto
,
’
said
Monsieur
Rigaud
,
suddenly
withdrawing
his
gaze
from
this
funnel
to
which
they
had
both
involuntarily
turned
their
eyes
,
‘
you
know
me
for
a
gentleman
?
’
‘
Surely
,
surely
!
’
‘
How
long
have
we
been
here
?
’
