Холодный дом

Esther’s Narrative

           Bucket,rapidlyglancingatit,"istoletmespeakawordtothisyoungladyinprivatehere.Andifyouknowofanyhelpthatyoucangivetothatgentlemaninthenextkitchenthereorcanthinkofanyonethingthat’slikelierthananothertobringthegirlround,doyourswiftestandbest!"Inaninstantshewasgone,andhehadshutthedoor."Nowmydear,you’resteadyandquitesureofyourself?""Quite,"saidI."Whosewritingisthat?"Itwasmymother’s.Apencil-writing,onacrushedandtornpieceofpaper,blottedwithwet.Foldedroughlylikealetter,anddirectedtomeatmyguardian’s."Youknowthehand,"hesaid,"andifyouarefirmenoughtoreadittome,do!Butbeparticulartoaword."Ithadbeenwritteninportions,atdifferenttimes.Ireadwhatfollows:Icametothecottagewithtwoobjects.First,toseethedearone,ifIcould,oncemorebutonlytoseehernottospeaktoherorletherknowthatIwasnear.Theotherobject,toeludepursuitandtobelost.Donotblamethemotherforhershare.Theassistancethatsherenderedme,sherenderedonmystrongestassurancethatitwasforthedearone’sgood.Yourememberherdeadchild.Themen’sconsentIbought,butherhelpwasfreelygiven."’Icame.’Thatwaswritten,"saidmycompanion,"whensherestedthere.ItbearsoutwhatImadeofit.Iwasright."Thenextwaswrittenatanothertime:Ihavewanderedalongdistance,andformanyhours,andIknowthatImustsoondie.Thesestreets!Ihavenopurposebuttodie.WhenIleft,Ihadaworse,butIamsavedfromaddingthatguilttotherest.

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