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- Чарльз Диккенс
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‘
I
’
m
sorry
to
see
there
is
this
to
do
,
’
said
the
child
when
she
approached
.
‘
I
heard
of
no
one
having
died
.
’
‘
She
lived
in
another
hamlet
,
my
dear
,
’
returned
the
sexton
.
‘
Three
mile
away
.
’
‘
Was
she
young
?
’
‘
Ye
-
yes
’
said
the
sexton
;
not
more
than
sixty
-
four
,
I
think
.
David
,
was
she
more
than
sixty
-
four
?
’
David
,
who
was
digging
hard
,
heard
nothing
of
the
question
.
The
sexton
,
as
he
could
not
reach
to
touch
him
with
his
crutch
,
and
was
too
infirm
to
rise
without
assistance
,
called
his
attention
by
throwing
a
little
mould
upon
his
red
nightcap
.
‘
What
’
s
the
matter
now
?
’
said
David
,
looking
up
.
‘
How
old
was
Becky
Morgan
?
’
asked
the
sexton
.
‘
Becky
Morgan
?
’
repeated
David
.
‘
Yes
,
’
replied
the
sexton
;
adding
in
a
half
compassionate
,
half
irritable
tone
,
which
the
old
man
couldn
’
t
hear
,
‘
you
’
re
getting
very
deaf
,
Davy
,
very
deaf
to
be
sure
!
’
The
old
man
stopped
in
his
work
,
and
cleansing
his
spade
with
a
piece
of
slate
he
had
by
him
for
the
purpose
—
and
scraping
off
,
in
the
process
,
the
essence
of
Heaven
knows
how
many
Becky
Morgans
—
set
himself
to
consider
the
subject
.
