Холодный дом

Quite at Home

           ThesedelayssoprotractedthejourneythattheshortdaywasspentandthelongnighthadclosedinbeforewecametoSt.Albans,neartowhichtownBleakHousewas,weknew.BythattimeweweresoanxiousandnervousthatevenRichardconfessed,aswerattledoverthestonesoftheoldstreet,tofeelinganirrationaldesiretodrivebackagain.AstoAdaandme,whomhehadwrappedupwithgreatcare,thenightbeingsharpandfrosty,wetrembledfromheadtofoot.Whenweturnedoutofthetown,roundacorner,andRichardtoldusthatthepost-boy,whohadforalongtimesympathizedwithourheightenedexpectation,waslookingbackandnodding,webothstoodupinthecarriage(RichardholdingAdalestsheshouldbejolteddown)andgazedroundupontheopencountryandthestarlightnightforourdestination.Therewasalightsparklingonthetopofahillbeforeus,andthedriver,pointingtoitwithhiswhipandcrying,"That’sBleakHouse!"puthishorsesintoacanterandtookusforwardatsucharate,uphillthoughitwas,thatthewheelssenttheroaddriftflyingaboutourheadslikesprayfromawater-mill.Presentlywelostthelight,presentlysawit,presentlylostit,presentlysawit,andturnedintoanavenueoftreesandcantereduptowardswhereitwasbeamingbrightly.Itwasinawindowofwhatseemedtobeanold-fashionedhousewiththreepeaksintheroofinfrontandacircularsweepleadingtotheporch.

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