Крошка Доррит

           Thatis,nomisfortunehashappened.Ihavecometotellyousomething,butitisapieceofgreatgood-fortune.’

           ‘Good-fortune?’

           ‘Wonderfulfortune!’

           Theystoodinawindow,andhereyes,fulloflight,werefixeduponhisface.Heputanarmabouther,seeingherlikelytosinkdown.Sheputahanduponthatarm,partlytorestuponit,andpartlysotopreservetheirrelativepositionsasthatherintentlookathimshouldbeshakenbynochangeofattitudeineitherofthem.Herlipsseemedtorepeat‘Wonderfulfortune?’Herepeateditagain,aloud.

           ‘DearLittleDorrit!Yourfather.’

           Theiceofthepalefacebrokeattheword,andlittlelightsandshootsofexpressionpassedalloverit.Theywereallexpressionsofpain.Herbreathwasfaintandhurried.Herheartbeatfast.Hewouldhaveclaspedthelittlefigurecloser,buthesawthattheeyesappealedtohimnottobemoved.

           ‘Yourfathercanbefreewithinthisweek.Hedoesnotknowit;wemustgotohimfromhere,totellhimofit.Yourfatherwillbefreewithinafewdays.Yourfatherwillbefreewithinafewhours.Rememberwemustgotohimfromhere,totellhimofit!’

           Thatbroughtherback.Hereyeswereclosing,buttheyopenedagain.

           ‘Thisisnotallthegood-fortune.Thisisnotallthewonderfulgood-fortune,mydearLittleDorrit.ShallItellyoumore?’

           Herlipsshaped‘Yes.’

           ‘Yourfatherwillbenobeggarwhenheisfree.Hewillwantfornothing.ShallItellyoumore?Remember!Heknowsnothingofit;wemustgotohim,fromhere,totellhimofit!’

           Sheseemedtoentreathimforalittletime.