Тяжёлые времена

Whelp-Hunting

           

           ‘Ifathunderbolthadfallenonme,’saidthefather,‘itwouldhaveshockedmelessthanthis!’

           ‘Idon’tseewhy,’grumbledtheson.‘Somanypeopleareemployedinsituationsoftrust;somanypeople,outofsomany,willbedishonest.Ihaveheardyoutalk,ahundredtimes,ofitsbeingalaw.HowcanIhelplaws?Youhavecomfortedotherswithsuchthings,father.Comfortyourself!’

           Thefatherburiedhisfaceinhishands,andthesonstoodinhisdisgracefulgrotesqueness,bitingstraw:hishands,withtheblackpartlywornawayinside,lookinglikethehandsofamonkey.Theeveningwasfastclosingin;andfromtimetotime,heturnedthewhitesofhiseyesrestlesslyandimpatientlytowardshisfather.Theyweretheonlypartsofhisfacethatshowedanylifeorexpression,thepigmentuponitwassothick.

           ‘YoumustbegottoLiverpool,andsentabroad.’

           ‘IsupposeImust.Ican’tbemoremiserableanywhere,’whimperedthewhelp,‘thanIhavebeenhere,eversinceIcanremember.That’sonething.’

           Mr.Gradgrindwenttothedoor,andreturnedwithSleary,towhomhesubmittedthequestion,Howtogetthisdeplorableobjectaway?

           ‘Why,I’vebeenthinkingofit,Thquire.There’thnotmuthtimetolothe,thoyoumuththayyethorno.Ithovertwentymilethtotherail.There’thacoathinhalfanhour,thatgoethtotherail,‘purpothetocaththemailtrain.ThattrainwilltakehimrighttoLiverpool.’

           ‘Butlookathim,’groanedMr.Gradgrind.

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