Крошка Доррит

Chapter 11. Let Loose

           

           Theguestsatlookingatherashesmokedouthisfinalcigarette,andasshesatwithherheadbentoverherwork,withanexpressionthatmighthaveresolvedherdoubts,andbroughthertoalastingconclusiononthesubjectofhisgoodorbadlooksifshehadseenit.Whenshedidlookup,theexpressionwasnotthere.Thehandwassmoothinghisshaggymoustache.

           ‘Mayoneasktobeshowntobed,madame?’

           Verywillingly,monsieur.Hola,myhusband!Myhusbandwouldconducthimup-stairs.Therewasonetravellerthere,asleep,whohadgonetobedveryearlyindeed,beingoverpoweredbyfatigue;butitwasalargechamberwithtwobedsinit,andspaceenoughfortwenty.ThisthelandladyoftheBreakofDaychirpinglyexplained,callingbetweenwhiles,‘Hola,myhusband!’outatthesidedoor.

           Myhusbandansweredatlength,‘ItisI,mywife!’andpresentinghimselfinhiscook’scap,lightedthetravellerupasteepandnarrowstaircase;thetravellercarryinghisowncloakandknapsack,andbiddingthelandladygoodnightwithacomplimentaryreferencetothepleasureofseeingheragainto-morrow.Itwasalargeroom,witharoughsplinteryfloor,unplasteredraftersoverhead,andtwobedsteadsonoppositesides.Here‘myhusband’putdownthecandlehecarried,andwithasidelonglookathisgueststoopingoverhisknapsack,grufflygavehimtheinstruction,‘Thebedtotheright!’andlefthimtohisrepose.Thelandlord,whetherhewasagoodorabadphysiognomist,hadfullymadeuphismindthattheguestwasanill-lookingfellow.

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