Холодный дом

Esther’s Narrative

           Therewasaspaciousinnhere,solitary,butacomfortablesubstantialbuilding,andaswedroveinunderalargegatewaybeforeIknewit,wherealandladyandherprettydaughterscametothecarriage-door,entreatingmetoalightandrefreshmyselfwhilethehorsesweremakingready,Ithoughtitwouldbeuncharitabletorefuse.Theytookmeupstairstoawarmroomandleftmethere.Itwasatthecornerofthehouse,Iremember,lookingtwoways.Ononesidetoastable-yardopentoaby-road,wheretheostlerswereunharnessingthesplashedandtiredhorsesfromthemuddycarriage,andbeyondthattotheby-roaditself,acrosswhichthesignwasheavilyswinging;ontheothersidetoawoodofdarkpine-trees.Theirbrancheswereencumberedwithsnow,anditsilentlydroppedoffinwetheapswhileIstoodatthewindow.Nightwassettingin,anditsbleaknesswasenhancedbythecontrastofthepicturedfireglowingandgleaminginthewindow-pane.AsIlookedamongthestemsofthetreesandfollowedthediscolouredmarksinthesnowwherethethawwassinkingintoitandunderminingit,IthoughtofthemotherlyfacebrightlysetoffbydaughtersthathadjustnowwelcomedmeandofMYmotherlyingdowninsuchawoodtodie.IwasfrightenedwhenIfoundthemallaboutme,butIrememberedthatbeforeIfaintedItriedveryhardnottodoit;andthatwassomelittlecomfort.Theycushionedmeuponalargesofabythefire,andthenthecomelylandladytoldmethatImusttravelnofurtherto-night,butmustgotobed.

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