Холодный дом

A Progress

           Whenshegavemeonecoldpartingkissuponmyforehead,likeathaw-dropfromthestoneporch—itwasaveryfrostyday—Ifeltsomiserableandself-reproachfulthatIclungtoherandtoldheritwasmyfault,Iknew,thatshecouldsaygood-byesoeasily!"No,Esther!"shereturned."Itisyourmisfortune!"Thecoachwasatthelittlelawn-gate—wehadnotcomeoutuntilweheardthewheels—andthusIlefther,withasorrowfulheart.Shewentinbeforemyboxeswereliftedtothecoach-roofandshutthedoor.AslongasIcouldseethehouse,Ilookedbackatitfromthewindowthroughmytears.MygodmotherhadleftMrs.Rachaelallthelittlepropertyshepossessed;andtherewastobeasale;andanoldhearth-rugwithrosesonit,whichalwaysseemedtomethefirstthingintheworldIhadeverseen,washangingoutsideinthefrostandsnow.Adayortwobefore,Ihadwrappedthedearolddollinherownshawlandquietlylaidher—Iamhalfashamedtotellit—inthegarden-earthunderthetreethatshadedmyoldwindow.Ihadnocompanionleftbutmybird,andhimIcarriedwithmeinhiscage.Whenthehousewasoutofsight,Isat,withmybird-cageinthestrawatmyfeet,forwardonthelowseattolookoutofthehighwindow,watchingthefrostytrees,thatwerelikebeautifulpiecesofspar,andthefieldsallsmoothandwhitewithlastnight’ssnow,andthesun,soredbutyieldingsolittleheat,andtheice,darklikemetalwheretheskatersandslidershadbrushedthesnowaway.

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Roboto Lora
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