Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Peggotty’s Dream Comes True

           

           WealightedatoneoftheentrancestotheSquareshehadmentioned,whereIdirectedthecoachtowait,notknowingbutthatwemighthavesomeoccasionforit.Shelaidherhandonmyarm,andhurriedmeontooneofthesombrestreets,ofwhichthereareseveralinthatpart,wherethehouseswereoncefairdwellingsintheoccupationofsinglefamilies,buthave,andhad,longdegeneratedintopoorlodgingsletoffinrooms.Enteringattheopendoorofoneofthese,andreleasingmyarm,shebeckonedmetofollowherupthecommonstaircase,whichwaslikeatributarychanneltothestreet.

           Thehouseswarmedwithinmates.Aswewentup,doorsofroomswereopenedandpeople’sheadsputout;andwepassedotherpeopleonthestairs,whowerecomingdown.Inglancingupfromtheoutside,beforeweentered,Ihadseenwomenandchildrenlollingatthewindowsoverflower-pots;andweseemedtohaveattractedtheircuriosity,forthesewereprincipallytheobserverswholookedoutoftheirdoors.Itwasabroadpanelledstaircase,withmassivebalustradesofsomedarkwood;cornicesabovethedoors,ornamentedwithcarvedfruitandflowers;andbroadseatsinthewindows.Butallthesetokensofpastgrandeurweremiserablydecayedanddirty;rot,damp,andage,hadweakenedtheflooring,whichinmanyplaceswasunsoundandevenunsafe.

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