Холодный дом

Esther’s Narrative

           Clatteringandclatteringthroughtheemptystreets,wecameatlengthfromthepavementontodarksmoothroadsandbegantoleavethehousesbehindus.AfterawhileIrecognizedthefamiliarwaytoSaintAlbans.AtBarnetfreshhorseswerereadyforus,andwechangedandwenton.Itwasverycoldindeed,andtheopencountrywaswhitewithsnow,thoughnonewasfallingthen."Anoldacquaintanceofyours,thisroad,MissSummerson,"saidMr.Bucketcheerfully."Yes,"Ireturned."Haveyougatheredanyintelligence?""Nonethatcanbequitedependedonasyet,"heanswered,"butit’searlytimesasyet."Hehadgoneintoeverylateorearlypublic-housewheretherewasalight(theywerenotafewatthattime,theroadbeingthenmuchfrequentedbydrovers)andhadgotdowntotalktotheturnpike-keepers.Ihadheardhimorderingdrink,andchinkingmoney,andmakinghimselfagreeableandmerryeverywhere;butwheneverhetookhisseatupontheboxagain,hisfaceresumeditswatchfulsteadylook,andhealwayssaidtothedriverinthesamebusinesstone,"Geton,mylad!"Withallthesestoppages,itwasbetweenfiveandsixo’clockandwewereyetafewmilesshortofSaintAlbanswhenhecameoutofoneofthesehousesandhandedmeinacupoftea."Drinkit,MissSummerson,it’lldoyougood.You’rebeginningtogetmoreyourselfnow,ain’tyou?"IthankedhimandsaidIhopedso."Youwaswhatyoumaycallstunnedatfirst,"hereturned;"andLord,nowonder!Don’tspeakloud,mydear.It’sallright.She’sonahead.

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