Холодный дом

Springing a Mine

           Thenhestops,andwithmoreofthoseinarticulatesounds,liftsuphiseyesandseemstostareatsomething.Heavenknowswhathesees.Thegreen,greenwoodsofChesneyWold,thenoblehouse,thepicturesofhisforefathers,strangersdefacingthem,officersofpolicecoarselyhandlinghismostpreciousheirlooms,thousandsoffingerspointingathim,thousandsoffacessneeringathim.Butifsuchshadowsflitbeforehimtohisbewilderment,thereisoneothershadowwhichhecannamewithsomethinglikedistinctnessevenyetandtowhichaloneheaddresseshistearingofhiswhitehairandhisextendedarms.Itissheinassociationwithwhom,savingthatshehasbeenforyearsamainfibreoftherootofhisdignityandpride,hehasneverhadaselfishthought.Itisshewhomhehasloved,admired,honoured,andsetupfortheworldtorespect.Itisshewho,atthecoreofalltheconstrainedformalitiesandconventionalitiesofhislife,hasbeenastockoflivingtendernessandlove,susceptibleasnothingelseisofbeingstruckwiththeagonyhefeels.Heseesher,almosttotheexclusionofhimself,andcannotbeartolookuponhercastdownfromthehighplaceshehasgracedsowell.Andeventothepointofhissinkingontheground,obliviousofhissuffering,hecanyetpronouncehernamewithsomethinglikedistinctnessinthemidstofthoseintrusivesounds,andinatoneofmourningandcompassionratherthanreproach.

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