Тяжёлые времена

The Old Woman

           Iwalkedninemiletothestationthismorning,andifIfindnobodyontheroadtogivemealift,Ishallwalktheninemilebackto-night.That’sprettywell,sir,atmyage!’saidthechattyoldwoman,hereyebrighteningwithexultation.

           ‘’Deed’tis.Don’tdo’ttoooften,missus.’

           ‘No,no.Onceayear,’sheanswered,shakingherhead.‘Ispendmysavingsso,onceeveryyear.Icomeregular,totrampaboutthestreets,andseethegentlemen.’

           ‘Onlytosee’em?’returnedStephen.

           ‘That’senoughforme,’shereplied,withgreatearnestnessandinterestofmanner.‘Iasknomore!Ihavebeenstandingabout,onthissideoftheway,toseethatgentleman,’turningherheadbacktowardsMr.Bounderby’sagain,‘comeout.But,he’slatethisyear,andIhavenotseenhim.Youcameoutinstead.Now,ifIamobligedtogobackwithoutaglimpseofhimIonlywantaglimpsewell!Ihaveseenyou,andyouhaveseenhim,andImustmakethatdo.’Sayingthis,shelookedatStephenasiftofixhisfeaturesinhermind,andhereyewasnotsobrightasithadbeen.

           Withalargeallowancefordifferenceoftastes,andwithallsubmissiontothepatriciansofCoketown,thisseemedsoextraordinaryasourceofinteresttotakesomuchtroubleabout,thatitperplexedhim.Buttheywerepassingthechurchnow,andashiseyecaughttheclock,hequickenedhispace.

           Hewasgoingtohiswork?theoldwomansaid,quickeninghers,too,quiteeasily.Yes,timewasnearlyout.

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