Тяжёлые времена

The Keynote

           Sheglancedupathisface,withmingledastonishmentanddread.

           ‘ByGeorge!’saidMr.Bounderby,‘whenIwasfourorfiveyearsyoungerthanyou,Ihadworsebruisesuponmethantenoils,twentyoils,fortyoils,wouldhaverubbedoff.Ididn’tget’embyposture-making,butbybeingbangedabout.Therewasnorope-dancingforme;Idancedonthebaregroundandwaslarrupedwiththerope.’

           Mr.Gradgrind,thoughhardenough,wasbynomeanssoroughamanasMr.Bounderby.Hischaracterwasnotunkind,allthingsconsidered;itmighthavebeenaverykindoneindeed,ifhehadonlymadesomeroundmistakeinthearithmeticthatbalancedit,yearsago.Hesaid,inwhathemeantforareassuringtone,astheyturneddownanarrowroad,‘AndthisisPod’sEnd;isit,Jupe?’

           ‘Thisisit,sir,andifyouwouldn’tmind,sirthisisthehouse.’

           Shestopped,attwilight,atthedoorofameanlittlepublic-house,withdimredlightsinit.Ashaggardandasshabby,asif,forwantofcustom,ithaditselftakentodrinking,andhadgonethewayalldrunkardsgo,andwasveryneartheendofit.

           ‘It’sonlycrossingthebar,sir,andupthestairs,ifyouwouldn’tmind,andwaitingthereforamomenttillIgetacandle.Ifyoushouldhearadog,sir,it’sonlyMerrylegs,andheonlybarks.’

           ‘Merrylegsandnineoils,eh!’saidMr.Bounderby,enteringlastwithhismetalliclaugh.‘Prettywellthis,foraself-mademan!’

           

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