Холодный дом

The Ghost’s Walk

           Thegrey,whoseplaceisoppositethedoorandwhowithanimpatientrattleofhishalterprickshisearsandturnshisheadsowistfullywhenitisopened,andtowhomtheopenersays,"Woagrey,then,steady!Noabodywantsyouto-day!"mayknowitquiteaswellastheman.Thewholeseeminglymonotonousanduncompanionablehalf-dozen,stabledtogether,maypassthelongwethourswhenthedoorisshutinliveliercommunicationthanisheldintheservants’hallorattheDedlockArms,ormayevenbeguilethetimebyimproving(perhapscorrupting)theponyintheloose-boxinthecorner.Sothemastiff,dozinginhiskennelinthecourt-yardwithhislargeheadonhispaws,maythinkofthehotsunshinewhentheshadowsofthestable-buildingstirehispatienceoutbychangingandleavehimatonetimeofthedaynobroaderrefugethantheshadowofhisownhouse,wherehesitsonend,pantingandgrowlingshort,andverymuchwantingsomethingtoworrybesideshimselfandhischain.Sonow,half-wakingandall-winking,hemayrecallthehousefullofcompany,thecoach-housesfullofvehicles,thestablesfullofhorses,andtheout-buildingsfullofattendantsuponhorses,untilheisundecidedaboutthepresentandcomesforthtoseehowitis.Then,withthatimpatientshakeofhimself,hemaygrowlinthespirit,"Rain,rain,rain!Nothingbutrainandnofamilyhere!"ashegoesinagainandliesdownwithagloomyyawn.

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