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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Лавка древностей
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- Стр. 439/459
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The
road
wound
gently
downward
.
As
they
proceeded
,
they
lost
sight
of
the
church
whose
clock
they
had
heard
,
and
of
the
small
village
clustering
round
it
.
The
knocking
,
which
was
now
renewed
,
and
which
in
that
stillness
they
could
plainly
hear
,
troubled
them
.
They
wished
the
man
would
forbear
,
or
that
they
had
told
him
not
to
break
the
silence
until
they
returned
.
The
old
church
tower
,
clad
in
a
ghostly
garb
of
pure
cold
white
,
again
rose
up
before
them
,
and
a
few
moments
brought
them
close
beside
it
.
A
venerable
building
—
grey
,
even
in
the
midst
of
the
hoary
landscape
.
An
ancient
sun
-
dial
on
the
belfry
wall
was
nearly
hidden
by
the
snow
-
drift
,
and
scarcely
to
be
known
for
what
it
was
.
Time
itself
seemed
to
have
grown
dull
and
old
,
as
if
no
day
were
ever
to
displace
the
melancholy
night
.
A
wicket
gate
was
close
at
hand
,
but
there
was
more
than
one
path
across
the
churchyard
to
which
it
led
,
and
,
uncertain
which
to
take
,
they
came
to
a
stand
again
.
The
village
street
—
if
street
that
could
be
called
which
was
an
irregular
cluster
of
poor
cottages
of
many
heights
and
ages
,
some
with
their
fronts
,
some
with
their
backs
,
and
some
with
gable
ends
towards
the
road
,
with
here
and
there
a
signpost
,
or
a
shed
encroaching
on
the
path
—
was
close
at
hand
.
There
was
a
faint
light
in
a
chamber
window
not
far
off
,
and
Kit
ran
towards
that
house
to
ask
their
way
.
His
first
shout
was
answered
by
an
old
man
within
,
who
presently
appeared
at
the
casement
,
wrapping
some
garment
round
his
throat
as
a
protection
from
the
cold
,
and
demanded
who
was
abroad
at
that
unseasonable
hour
,
wanting
him
.
‘
’
Tis
hard
weather
this
,
’
he
grumbled
,
‘
and
not
a
night
to
call
me
up
in
.
My
trade
is
not
of
that
kind
that
I
need
be
roused
from
bed
.
The
business
on
which
folks
want
me
,
will
keep
cold
,
especially
at
this
season
.
What
do
you
want
?
’
‘
I
would
not
have
roused
you
,
if
I
had
known
you
were
old
and
ill
,
’
said
Kit
.
‘
Old
!
’
repeated
the
other
peevishly
.
‘
How
do
you
know
I
am
old
?
Not
so
old
as
you
think
,
friend
,
perhaps
.
As
to
being
ill
,
you
will
find
many
young
people
in
worse
case
than
I
am
.
More
’
s
the
pity
that
it
should
be
so
—
not
that
I
should
be
strong
and
hearty
for
my
years
,
I
mean
,
but
that
they
should
be
weak
and
tender
.
I
ask
your
pardon
though
,
’
said
the
old
man
,
‘
if
I
spoke
rather
rough
at
first
.
My
eyes
are
not
good
at
night
—
that
’
s
neither
age
nor
illness
;
they
never
were
—
and
I
didn
’
t
see
you
were
a
stranger
.
’
‘
I
am
sorry
to
call
you
from
your
bed
,
’
said
Kit
,
‘
but
those
gentlemen
you
may
see
by
the
churchyard
gate
,
are
strangers
too
,
who
have
just
arrived
from
a
long
journey
,
and
seek
the
parsonage
-
house
.
You
can
direct
us
?
’
