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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 177/420
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'
Never
mind
the
year
,
'
said
the
impatient
auditor
;
'
what
about
her
?
'
'
Ay
,
'
murmured
the
sick
woman
,
relapsing
into
her
former
drowsy
state
,
'
what
about
her
?
--
what
about
--
I
know
!
'
she
cried
,
jumping
fiercely
up
:
her
face
flushed
,
and
her
eyes
starting
from
her
head
--
'
I
robbed
her
,
so
I
did
!
She
was
n't
cold
--
I
tell
you
she
was
n't
cold
,
when
I
stole
it
!
'
'
Stole
what
,
for
God
's
sake
?
'
cried
the
matron
,
with
a
gesture
as
if
she
would
call
for
help
.
'
IT
!
'
replied
the
woman
,
laying
her
hand
over
the
other
's
mouth
.
'
The
only
thing
she
had
.
She
wanted
clothes
to
keep
her
warm
,
and
food
to
eat
;
but
she
had
kept
it
safe
,
and
had
it
in
her
bosom
.
It
was
gold
,
I
tell
you
!
Rich
gold
,
that
might
have
saved
her
life
!
'
'
Gold
!
'
echoed
the
matron
,
bending
eagerly
over
the
woman
as
she
fell
back
.
'
Go
on
,
go
on
--
yest
--
what
of
it
?
Who
was
the
mother
?
When
was
it
?
'
'
She
charge
me
to
keep
it
safe
,
'
replied
the
woman
with
a
groan
,
'
and
trusted
me
as
the
only
woman
about
her
.
I
stole
it
in
my
heart
when
she
first
showed
it
me
hanging
round
her
neck
;
and
the
child
's
death
,
perhaps
,
is
on
me
besides
!
They
would
have
treated
him
better
,
if
they
had
known
it
all
!
'
'
Known
what
?
'
asked
the
other
.
'
Speak
!
'
'
The
boy
grew
so
like
his
mother
,
'
said
the
woman
,
rambling
on
,
and
not
heeding
the
question
,
'
that
I
could
never
forget
it
when
I
saw
his
face
.
Poor
girl
!
poor
girl
!
She
was
so
young
,
too
!
Such
a
gentle
lamb
!
Wait
;
there
's
more
to
tell
.
I
have
not
told
you
all
,
have
I
?
'
