Крошка Доррит

Chapter 30. Closing in

           Now,allthisisaswallowingofmeupalivethatraspsme;so,feelingalittleoutoftemper,andnotbeingasstrictasyourself,Itakealookatthedocumentbeforetwelveo’clocktorefreshmymemoryastoitsappearance—folduponeofthemanyyellowoldpapersinthecellarslikeit—andafterwards,whenwehavegotintoMondaymorning,andIhave,bythelightofyourlamp,towalkfromyou,lyingonthatbed,tothisgrate,makealittleexchangeliketheconjuror,andburnaccordingly.MybrotherEphraim,thelunatic-keeper(Iwishhehadhadhimselftokeepinastrait-waistcoat),hadhadmanyjobssincethecloseofthelongjobhegotfromyou,buthadnotdonewell.Hiswifedied(notthatthatwasmuch;minemighthavediedinstead,andwelcome),hespeculatedunsuccessfullyinlunatics,hegotintodifficultyaboutover-roastingapatienttobringhimtoreason,andhegotintodebt.Hewasgoingoutoftheway,onwhathehadbeenabletoscrapeup,andatriflefromme.HewasherethatearlyMondaymorning,waitingforthetide;inshort,hewasgoingtoAntwerp,where(Iamafraidyou’llbeshockedatmysaying,Andbedamnedtohim!)hemadetheacquaintanceofthisgentleman.Hehadcomealongway,and,Ithoughtthen,wasonlysleepy;but,Isupposenow,wasdrunk.WhenArthur’smotherhadbeenunderthecareofhimandhiswife,shehadbeenalwayswriting,incessantlywriting,—mostlylettersofconfessiontoyou,andPrayersforforgiveness.Mybrotherhadhanded,fromtimetotime,lotsofthesesheetstome.

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