Холодный дом

Mr. Bucket

           Seatedatthesametable,thoughwithhischairmodestlyanduncomfortablydrawnalittlewayfromit,sitsabald,mild,shiningmanwhocoughsrespectfullybehindhishandwhenthelawyerbidshimfillhisglass."Now,Snagsby,"saysMr.Tulkinghorn,"togooverthisoddstoryagain.""Ifyouplease,sir.""Youtoldmewhenyouweresogoodastosteproundherelastnight""ForwhichImustaskyoutoexcusemeifitwasaliberty,sir;butIrememberthatyouhadtakenasortofaninterestinthatperson,andIthoughtitpossiblethatyoumightjustwishto"Mr.Tulkinghornisnotthemantohelphimtoanyconclusionortoadmitanythingastoanypossibilityconcerninghimself.SoMr.Snagsbytrailsoffintosaying,withanawkwardcough,"Imustaskyoutoexcusetheliberty,sir,Iamsure.""Notatall,"saysMr.Tulkinghorn."Youtoldme,Snagsby,thatyouputonyourhatandcameroundwithoutmentioningyourintentiontoyourwife.ThatwasprudentIthink,becauseit’snotamatterofsuchimportancethatitrequirestobementioned.""Well,sir,"returnsMr.Snagsby,"yousee,mylittlewomanisnottoputtoofineapointuponitinquisitive.She’sinquisitive.Poorlittlething,she’sliabletospasms,andit’sgoodforhertohavehermindemployed.InconsequenceofwhichsheemploysitIshouldsayuponeveryindividualthingshecanlayholdof,whetheritconcernsherornotespeciallynot.Mylittlewomanhasaveryactivemind,sir."Mr.

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