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- Джордж Элиот
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- Стр. 362/572
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"
By
Jove
,
Nick
,
it
’
s
you
!
I
couldn
’
t
be
mistaken
,
though
the
five
-
and
-
twenty
years
have
played
old
Boguy
with
us
both
!
How
are
you
,
eh
?
you
didn
’
t
expect
to
see
ME
here
.
Come
,
shake
us
by
the
hand
.
"
To
say
that
Mr
.
Raffles
’
manner
was
rather
excited
would
be
only
one
mode
of
saying
that
it
was
evening
.
Caleb
Garth
could
see
that
there
was
a
moment
of
struggle
and
hesitation
in
Mr
.
Bulstrode
,
but
it
ended
in
his
putting
out
his
hand
coldly
to
Raffles
and
saying
—
"
I
did
not
indeed
expect
to
see
you
in
this
remote
country
place
.
"
"
Well
,
it
belongs
to
a
stepson
of
mine
,
"
said
Raffles
,
adjusting
himself
in
a
swaggering
attitude
.
"
I
came
to
see
him
here
before
.
I
’
m
not
so
surprised
at
seeing
you
,
old
fellow
,
because
I
picked
up
a
letter
—
what
you
may
call
a
providential
thing
.
It
’
s
uncommonly
fortunate
I
met
you
,
though
;
for
I
don
’
t
care
about
seeing
my
stepson
:
he
’
s
not
affectionate
,
and
his
poor
mother
’
s
gone
now
.
To
tell
the
truth
,
I
came
out
of
love
to
you
,
Nick
:
I
came
to
get
your
address
,
for
—
look
here
!
"
Raffles
drew
a
crumpled
paper
from
his
pocket
.
Almost
any
other
man
than
Caleb
Garth
might
have
been
tempted
to
linger
on
the
spot
for
the
sake
of
hearing
all
he
could
about
a
man
whose
acquaintance
with
Bulstrode
seemed
to
imply
passages
in
the
banker
’
s
life
so
unlike
anything
that
was
known
of
him
in
Middlemarch
that
they
must
have
the
nature
of
a
secret
to
pique
curiosity
.
But
Caleb
was
peculiar
:
certain
human
tendencies
which
are
commonly
strong
were
almost
absent
from
his
mind
;
and
one
of
these
was
curiosity
about
personal
affairs
.
Especially
if
there
was
anything
discreditable
to
be
found
out
concerning
another
man
,
Caleb
preferred
not
to
know
it
;
and
if
he
had
to
tell
anybody
under
him
that
his
evil
doings
were
discovered
,
he
was
more
embarrassed
than
the
culprit
.
He
now
spurred
his
horse
,
and
saying
,
"
I
wish
you
good
evening
,
Mr
.
Bulstrode
;
I
must
be
getting
home
,
"
set
off
at
a
trot
.
"
You
didn
’
t
put
your
full
address
to
this
letter
,
"
Raffles
continued
.
"
That
was
not
like
the
first
-
rate
man
of
business
you
used
to
be
.
‘
The
Shrubs
,
’
—
they
may
be
anywhere
:
you
live
near
at
hand
,
eh
?
—
have
cut
the
London
concern
altogether
—
perhaps
turned
country
squire
—
have
a
rural
mansion
to
invite
me
to
.
Lord
,
how
many
years
it
is
ago
!
The
old
lady
must
have
been
dead
a
pretty
long
while
—
gone
to
glory
without
the
pain
of
knowing
how
poor
her
daughter
was
,
eh
?
But
,
by
Jove
!
you
’
re
very
pale
and
pasty
,
Nick
.
Come
,
if
you
’
re
going
home
,
I
’
ll
walk
by
your
side
.
"
Mr
.
Bulstrode
’
s
usual
paleness
had
in
fact
taken
an
almost
deathly
hue
.
Five
minutes
before
,
the
expanse
of
his
life
had
been
submerged
in
its
evening
sunshine
which
shone
backward
to
its
remembered
morning
:
sin
seemed
to
be
a
question
of
doctrine
and
inward
penitence
,
humiliation
an
exercise
of
the
closet
,
the
bearing
of
his
deeds
a
matter
of
private
vision
adjusted
solely
by
spiritual
relations
and
conceptions
of
the
divine
purposes
.
And
now
,
as
if
by
some
hideous
magic
,
this
loud
red
figure
had
risen
before
him
in
unmanageable
solidity
—
an
incorporate
past
which
had
not
entered
into
his
imagination
of
chastisements
.
But
Mr
.
Bulstrode
’
s
thought
was
busy
,
and
he
was
not
a
man
to
act
or
speak
rashly
.
"
I
was
going
home
,
"
he
said
,
"
but
I
can
defer
my
ride
a
little
.
And
you
can
,
if
you
please
,
rest
here
.
"
