Крошка Доррит

Chapter 3. Home

           Ashufflingstepwassoonheardonthestonefloorofthehall,andthedoorwasopenedbyanoldman,bentanddried,butwithkeeneyes.

           Hehadacandleinhishand,andhehelditupforamomenttoassisthiskeeneyes.‘Ah,MrArthur?’hesaid,withoutanyemotion,‘youarecomeatlast?Stepin.’

           MrArthursteppedinandshutthedoor.

           ‘Yourfigureisfilledout,andset,’saidtheoldman,turningtolookathimwiththelightraisedagain,andshakinghishead;‘butyoudon’tcomeuptoyourfatherinmyopinion.Noryetyourmother.’

           ‘Howismymother?’

           ‘Sheisasshealwaysisnow.Keepsherroomwhennotactuallybedridden,andhasn’tbeenoutofitfifteentimesinasmanyyears,Arthur.’Theyhadwalkedintoaspare,meagredining-room.Theoldmanhadputthecandlestickuponthetable,and,supportinghisrightelbowwithhislefthand,wassmoothinghisleathernjawswhilehelookedatthevisitor.Thevisitorofferedhishand.Theoldmantookitcoldlyenough,andseemedtopreferhisjaws,towhichhereturnedassoonashecould.

           ‘IdoubtifyourmotherwillapproveofyourcominghomeontheSabbath,Arthur,’hesaid,shakinghisheadwarily.

           ‘Youwouldn’thavemegoawayagain?’

           ‘Oh!I?I?Iamnotthemaster.It’snotwhatIwouldhave.Ihavestoodbetweenyourfatherandmotherforanumberofyears.Idon’tpretendtostandbetweenyourmotherandyou.’

           ‘WillyoutellherthatIhavecomehome?’

           ‘Yes,Arthur,yes.Oh,tobesure!I’lltellherthatyouhavecomehome.Pleasetowaithere.Youwon’tfindtheroomchanged.

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