Холодный дом

Chesney Wold

           Iwasfarfrombeingincuriousoruninterestedaboutthebuilding;onthecontrary,Ioftensatinthisplacewonderinghowtheroomsrangedandwhetheranyecholikeafootstepreallydidresoundattimes,asthestorysaid,uponthelonelyGhost’sWalk.TheindefinablefeelingwithwhichLadyDedlockhadimpressedmemayhavehadsomeinfluenceinkeepingmefromthehouseevenwhenshewasabsent.Iamnotsure.Herfaceandfigurewereassociatedwithit,naturally;butIcannotsaythattheyrepelledmefromit,thoughsomethingdid.Forwhateverreasonornoreason,Ihadneveroncegonenearit,downtothedayatwhichmystorynowarrives.Iwasrestingatmyfavouritepointafteralongramble,andCharleywasgatheringvioletsatalittledistancefromme.IhadbeenlookingattheGhost’sWalklyinginadeepshadeofmasonryafaroffandpicturingtomyselfthefemaleshapethatwassaidtohauntitwhenIbecameawareofafigureapproachingthroughthewood.Theperspectivewassolongandsodarkenedbyleaves,andtheshadowsofthebranchesonthegroundmadeitsomuchmoreintricatetotheeye,thatatfirstIcouldnotdiscernwhatfigureitwas.Bylittleandlittleitrevealeditselftobeawoman’salady’sLadyDedlock’s.ShewasaloneandcomingtowhereIsatwithamuchquickerstep,Iobservedtomysurprise,thanwasusualwithher.Iwasflutteredbyherbeingunexpectedlysonear(shewasalmostwithinspeakingdistancebeforeIknewher)andwouldhaverisentocontinuemywalk.ButIcouldnot.Iwasrenderedmotionless.

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