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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Лавка древностей
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- Стр. 267/459
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‘
Have
you
been
here
ever
since
?
’
asked
the
child
.
‘
Ever
since
I
came
to
watch
it
;
but
there
was
a
while
between
,
and
a
very
cold
dreary
while
it
was
.
It
burned
all
the
time
though
,
and
roared
and
leaped
when
I
came
back
,
as
it
used
to
do
in
our
play
days
.
You
may
guess
,
from
looking
at
me
,
what
kind
of
child
I
was
,
but
for
all
the
difference
between
us
I
was
a
child
,
and
when
I
saw
you
in
the
street
to
-
night
,
you
put
me
in
mind
of
myself
,
as
I
was
after
he
died
,
and
made
me
wish
to
bring
you
to
the
fire
.
I
thought
of
those
old
times
again
,
when
I
saw
you
sleeping
by
it
.
You
should
be
sleeping
now
.
Lie
down
again
,
poor
child
,
lie
down
again
!
’
With
that
,
he
led
her
to
her
rude
couch
,
and
covering
her
with
the
clothes
with
which
she
had
found
herself
enveloped
when
she
woke
,
returned
to
his
seat
,
whence
he
moved
no
more
unless
to
feed
the
furnace
,
but
remained
motionless
as
a
statue
.
The
child
continued
to
watch
him
for
a
little
time
,
but
soon
yielded
to
the
drowsiness
that
came
upon
her
,
and
,
in
the
dark
strange
place
and
on
the
heap
of
ashes
,
slept
as
peacefully
as
if
the
room
had
been
a
palace
chamber
,
and
the
bed
,
a
bed
of
down
.
When
she
awoke
again
,
broad
day
was
shining
through
the
lofty
openings
in
the
walls
,
and
,
stealing
in
slanting
rays
but
midway
down
,
seemed
to
make
the
building
darker
than
it
had
been
at
night
.
The
clang
and
tumult
were
still
going
on
,
and
the
remorseless
fires
were
burning
fiercely
as
before
;
for
few
changes
of
night
and
day
brought
rest
or
quiet
there
.
Her
friend
parted
his
breakfast
—
a
scanty
mess
of
coffee
and
some
coarse
bread
—
with
the
child
and
her
grandfather
,
and
inquired
whither
they
were
going
.
She
told
him
that
they
sought
some
distant
country
place
remote
from
towns
or
even
other
villages
,
and
with
a
faltering
tongue
inquired
what
road
they
would
do
best
to
take
.
‘
I
know
little
of
the
country
,
’
he
said
,
shaking
his
head
,
‘
for
such
as
I
,
pass
all
our
lives
before
our
furnace
doors
,
and
seldom
go
forth
to
breathe
.
But
there
are
such
places
yonder
.
’
‘
And
far
from
here
?
’
said
Nell
.
‘
Aye
surely
.
How
could
they
be
near
us
,
and
be
green
and
fresh
?
The
road
lies
,
too
,
through
miles
and
miles
,
all
lighted
up
by
fires
like
ours
—
a
strange
black
road
,
and
one
that
would
frighten
you
by
night
.
’
‘
We
are
here
and
must
go
on
,
’
said
the
child
boldly
;
for
she
saw
that
the
old
man
listened
with
anxious
ears
to
this
account
.
‘
Rough
people
—
paths
never
made
for
little
feet
like
yours
—
a
dismal
blighted
way
—
is
there
no
turning
back
,
my
child
?
’
