Крошка Доррит

Chapter 19. The Storming of the Castle in the Air

           Sohadhesatmanyanight,overacoalfirefaraway;sohadshesat,devotedtohim.Yetsurelytherewasnothingtobejealousofintheoldmiserablepoverty.Whence,then,thepanginhisheart?

           ‘Doyouknow,uncle,Ithinkyouaregrowingyoungagain?’

           Heruncleshookhisheadandsaid,‘Sincewhen,mydear;sincewhen?’

           ‘Ithink,’returnedLittleDorrit,plyingherneedle,‘thatyouhavebeengrowingyoungerforweekspast.Socheerful,uncle,andsoready,andsointerested.’

           ‘Mydearchild—allyou.’

           ‘Allme,uncle!’

           ‘Yes,yes.Youhavedonemeaworldofgood.Youhavebeensoconsiderateofme,andsotenderwithme,andsodelicateintryingtohideyourattentionsfromme,thatI—well,well,well!It’streasuredup,mydarling,treasuredup.’

           ‘Thereisnothinginitbutyourownfreshfancy,uncle,’saidLittleDorrit,cheerfully.

           ‘Well,well,well!’murmuredtheoldman.‘ThankGod!’

           Shepausedforaninstantinherworktolookathim,andherlookrevivedthatformerpaininherfather’sbreast;inhispoorweakbreast,sofullofcontradictions,vacillations,inconsistencies,thelittlepeevishperplexitiesofthisignorantlife,mistswhichthemorningwithoutanightonlycanclearaway.

           ‘Ihavebeenfreerwithyou,yousee,mydove,’saidtheoldman,‘sincewehavebeenalone.Isay,alone,forIdon’tcountMrsGeneral;Idon’tcareforher;shehasnothingtodowithme.ButIknowFannywasimpatientofme.

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