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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 88/761
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It
was
evident
from
the
general
tone
of
the
whole
party
,
that
they
had
come
to
regard
insolvency
as
the
normal
state
of
mankind
,
and
the
payment
of
debts
as
a
disease
that
occasionally
broke
out
.
In
this
strange
scene
,
and
with
these
strange
spectres
flitting
about
him
,
Arthur
Clennam
looked
on
at
the
preparations
as
if
they
were
part
of
a
dream
.
Pending
which
,
the
long
-
initiated
Tip
,
with
an
awful
enjoyment
of
the
Snuggery
’
s
resources
,
pointed
out
the
common
kitchen
fire
maintained
by
subscription
of
collegians
,
the
boiler
for
hot
water
supported
in
like
manner
,
and
other
premises
generally
tending
to
the
deduction
that
the
way
to
be
healthy
,
wealthy
,
and
wise
,
was
to
come
to
the
Marshalsea
.
The
two
tables
put
together
in
a
corner
,
were
,
at
length
,
converted
into
a
very
fair
bed
;
and
the
stranger
was
left
to
the
Windsor
chairs
,
the
presidential
tribune
,
the
beery
atmosphere
,
sawdust
,
pipe
-
lights
,
spittoons
and
repose
.
But
the
last
item
was
long
,
long
,
long
,
in
linking
itself
to
the
rest
.
The
novelty
of
the
place
,
the
coming
upon
it
without
preparation
,
the
sense
of
being
locked
up
,
the
remembrance
of
that
room
up
-
stairs
,
of
the
two
brothers
,
and
above
all
of
the
retiring
childish
form
,
and
the
face
in
which
he
now
saw
years
of
insufficient
food
,
if
not
of
want
,
kept
him
waking
and
unhappy
.
Speculations
,
too
,
bearing
the
strangest
relations
towards
the
prison
,
but
always
concerning
the
prison
,
ran
like
nightmares
through
his
mind
while
he
lay
awake
.
Whether
coffins
were
kept
ready
for
people
who
might
die
there
,
where
they
were
kept
,
how
they
were
kept
,
where
people
who
died
in
the
prison
were
buried
,
how
they
were
taken
out
,
what
forms
were
observed
,
whether
an
implacable
creditor
could
arrest
the
dead
?
As
to
escaping
,
what
chances
there
were
of
escape
?
Whether
a
prisoner
could
scale
the
walls
with
a
cord
and
grapple
,
how
he
would
descend
upon
the
other
side
?
whether
he
could
alight
on
a
housetop
,
steal
down
a
staircase
,
let
himself
out
at
a
door
,
and
get
lost
in
the
crowd
?
As
to
Fire
in
the
prison
,
if
one
were
to
break
out
while
he
lay
there
?
And
these
involuntary
starts
of
fancy
were
,
after
all
,
but
the
setting
of
a
picture
in
which
three
people
kept
before
him
.
His
father
,
with
the
steadfast
look
with
which
he
had
died
,
prophetically
darkened
forth
in
the
portrait
;
his
mother
,
with
her
arm
up
,
warding
off
his
suspicion
;
Little
Dorrit
,
with
her
hand
on
the
degraded
arm
,
and
her
drooping
head
turned
away
.
What
if
his
mother
had
an
old
reason
she
well
knew
for
softening
to
this
poor
girl
!
What
if
the
prisoner
now
sleeping
quietly
—
Heaven
grant
it
!
—
by
the
light
of
the
great
Day
of
judgment
should
trace
back
his
fall
to
her
.
What
if
any
act
of
hers
and
of
his
father
’
s
,
should
have
even
remotely
brought
the
grey
heads
of
those
two
brothers
so
low
!
A
swift
thought
shot
into
his
mind
.
In
that
long
imprisonment
here
,
and
in
her
own
long
confinement
to
her
room
,
did
his
mother
find
a
balance
to
be
struck
?
‘
I
admit
that
I
was
accessory
to
that
man
’
s
captivity
.
I
have
suffered
for
it
in
kind
.
He
has
decayed
in
his
prison
:
I
in
mine
.
I
have
paid
the
penalty
’
When
all
the
other
thoughts
had
faded
out
,
this
one
held
possession
of
him
.
When
he
fell
asleep
,
she
came
before
him
in
her
wheeled
chair
,
warding
him
off
with
this
justification
.
When
he
awoke
,
and
sprang
up
causelessly
frightened
,
the
words
were
in
his
ears
,
as
if
her
voice
had
slowly
spoken
them
at
his
pillow
,
to
break
his
rest
:
‘
He
withers
away
in
his
prison
;
I
wither
away
in
mine
;
inexorable
justice
is
done
;
what
do
I
owe
on
this
score
!
’
