Мидлмарч

           Horrockwithit,butthiscommittalofhimselftoanopinionfellfromhimwithsolittlesacrificeofhisneutralexpression,thatthebidmightnothavebeendetectedashisbutforthefriendlyoathsofMr.Bambridge,whowantedtoknowwhatHorrockwoulddowithblastedstuffonlyfitforhaberdashersgivenovertothatstateofperditionwhichthehorse-dealersocordiallyrecognizedinthemajorityofearthlyexistences.ThelotwasfinallyknockeddownataguineatoMr.Spilkins,ayoungSlenderoftheneighborhood,whowasrecklesswithhispocket-moneyandfelthiswantofmemoryforriddles.

           "Come,Trumbull,thisistoobad—you’vebeenputtingsomeoldmaid’srubbishintothesale,"murmuredMr.Toller,gettingclosetotheauctioneer."Iwanttoseehowtheprintsgo,andImustbeoffsoon."

           "IMmediately,Mr.Toller.Itwasonlyanactofbenevolencewhichyournobleheartwouldapprove.Joseph!quickwiththeprints—Lot235.Now,gentlemen,youwhoareconnoissURES,youaregoingtohaveatreat.HereisanengravingoftheDukeofWellingtonsurroundedbyhisstaffontheFieldofWaterloo;andnotwithstandingrecenteventswhichhave,asitwere,envelopedourgreatHeroinacloud,Iwillbeboldtosay—foramaninmylinemustnotbeblownaboutbypoliticalwinds—thatafinersubject—ofthemodernorder,belongingtoourowntimeandepoch—theunderstandingofmancouldhardlyconceive:angelsmight,perhaps,butnotmen,sirs,notmen.