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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Крошка Доррит
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- Стр. 99/761
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‘
—
As
I
take
you
back
,
’
the
word
home
jarred
upon
him
,
‘
let
me
ask
you
to
persuade
yourself
that
you
have
another
friend
.
I
make
no
professions
,
and
say
no
more
.
’
‘
You
are
truly
kind
to
me
,
sir
.
I
am
sure
I
need
no
more
.
’
They
walked
back
through
the
miserable
muddy
streets
,
and
among
the
poor
,
mean
shops
,
and
were
jostled
by
the
crowds
of
dirty
hucksters
usual
to
a
poor
neighbourhood
.
There
was
nothing
,
by
the
short
way
,
that
was
pleasant
to
any
of
the
five
senses
.
Yet
it
was
not
a
common
passage
through
common
rain
,
and
mire
,
and
noise
,
to
Clennam
,
having
this
little
,
slender
,
careful
creature
on
his
arm
.
How
young
she
seemed
to
him
,
or
how
old
he
to
her
;
or
what
a
secret
either
to
the
other
,
in
that
beginning
of
the
destined
interweaving
of
their
stories
,
matters
not
here
.
He
thought
of
her
having
been
born
and
bred
among
these
scenes
,
and
shrinking
through
them
now
,
familiar
yet
misplaced
;
he
thought
of
her
long
acquaintance
with
the
squalid
needs
of
life
,
and
of
her
innocence
;
of
her
solicitude
for
others
,
and
her
few
years
,
and
her
childish
aspect
.
They
were
come
into
the
High
Street
,
where
the
prison
stood
,
when
a
voice
cried
,
‘
Little
mother
,
little
mother
!
’
Little
Dorrit
stopping
and
looking
back
,
an
excited
figure
of
a
strange
kind
bounced
against
them
(
still
crying
‘
little
mother
’
)
,
fell
down
,
and
scattered
the
contents
of
a
large
basket
,
filled
with
potatoes
,
in
the
mud
.
‘
Oh
,
Maggy
,
’
said
Little
Dorrit
,
‘
what
a
clumsy
child
you
are
!
’
Maggy
was
not
hurt
,
but
picked
herself
up
immediately
,
and
then
began
to
pick
up
the
potatoes
,
in
which
both
Little
Dorrit
and
Arthur
Clennam
helped
.
Maggy
picked
up
very
few
potatoes
and
a
great
quantity
of
mud
;
but
they
were
all
recovered
,
and
deposited
in
the
basket
.
Maggy
then
smeared
her
muddy
face
with
her
shawl
,
and
presenting
it
to
Mr
Clennam
as
a
type
of
purity
,
enabled
him
to
see
what
she
was
like
.
She
was
about
eight
-
and
-
twenty
,
with
large
bones
,
large
features
,
large
feet
and
hands
,
large
eyes
and
no
hair
.
Her
large
eyes
were
limpid
and
almost
colourless
;
they
seemed
to
be
very
little
affected
by
light
,
and
to
stand
unnaturally
still
.
There
was
also
that
attentive
listening
expression
in
her
face
,
which
is
seen
in
the
faces
of
the
blind
;
but
she
was
not
blind
,
having
one
tolerably
serviceable
eye
.
Her
face
was
not
exceedingly
ugly
,
though
it
was
only
redeemed
from
being
so
by
a
smile
;
a
good
-
humoured
smile
,
and
pleasant
in
itself
,
but
rendered
pitiable
by
being
constantly
there
.
A
great
white
cap
,
with
a
quantity
of
opaque
frilling
that
was
always
flapping
about
,
apologised
for
Maggy
’
s
baldness
,
and
made
it
so
very
difficult
for
her
old
black
bonnet
to
retain
its
place
upon
her
head
,
that
it
held
on
round
her
neck
like
a
gipsy
’
s
baby
.
A
commission
of
haberdashers
could
alone
have
reported
what
the
rest
of
her
poor
dress
was
made
of
,
but
it
had
a
strong
general
resemblance
to
seaweed
,
with
here
and
there
a
gigantic
tea
-
leaf
.
Her
shawl
looked
particularly
like
a
tea
-
leaf
after
long
infusion
.
Arthur
Clennam
looked
at
Little
Dorrit
with
the
expression
of
one
saying
,
‘
May
I
ask
who
this
is
?
’
Little
Dorrit
,
whose
hand
this
Maggy
,
still
calling
her
little
mother
,
had
begun
to
fondle
,
answered
in
words
(
they
were
under
a
gateway
into
which
the
majority
of
the
potatoes
had
rolled
)
.
