Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

In which the old Man launches forth into his favourite Theme, and relates a Story about a queer Clie

           

           ‘Twentyyearsago,thatpavementwaswornwiththefootstepsofamotherandchild,who,daybyday,sosurelyasthemorningcame,presentedthemselvesattheprisongate;oftenafteranightofrestlessmiseryandanxiousthoughts,weretheythere,afullhourtoosoon,andthentheyoungmotherturningmeeklyaway,wouldleadthechildtotheoldbridge,andraisinghiminherarmstoshowhimtheglisteningwater,tintedwiththelightofthemorning’ssun,andstirringwithallthebustlingpreparationsforbusinessandpleasurethattheriverpresentedatthatearlyhour,endeavourtointeresthisthoughtsintheobjectsbeforehim.Butshewouldquicklysethimdown,andhidingherfaceinhershawl,giveventtothetearsthatblindedher;fornoexpressionofinterestoramusementlighteduphisthinandsicklyface.Hisrecollectionswerefewenough,buttheywereallofonekindallconnectedwiththepovertyandmiseryofhisparents.Hourafterhourhadhesatonhismother’sknee,andwithchildishsympathywatchedthetearsthatstoledownherface,andthencreptquietlyawayintosomedarkcorner,andsobbedhimselftosleep.Thehardrealitiesoftheworld,withmanyofitsworstprivationshungerandthirst,andcoldandwanthadallcomehometohim,fromthefirstdawningsofreason;andthoughtheformofchildhoodwasthere,itslightheart,itsmerrylaugh,andsparklingeyeswerewanting.‘Thefatherandmotherlookedonuponthis,anduponeachother,withthoughtsofagonytheydarednotbreatheinwords.

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Roboto Lora
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