Різдвяна історія
Chapter 2
Butthestrangestthingaboutitwas,thatfromthecrownofitsheadtheresprungabrightclearjetoflight,bywhichallthiswasvisible;andwhichwasdoubtlesstheoccasionofitsusing,initsdullermoments,agreatextinguisherforacap,whichitnowheldunderitsarm.
Eventhis,though,whenScroogelookedatitwithincreasingsteadiness,wasnotitsstrangestquality.Forasitsbeltsparkledandglitterednowinonepartandnowinanother,andwhatwaslightoneinstant,atanothertimewasdark,sothefigureitselffluctuatedinitsdistinctness:beingnowathingwithonearm,nowwithoneleg,nowwithtwentylegs,nowapairoflegswithoutahead,nowaheadwithoutabody:ofwhichdissolvingparts,nooutlinewouldbevisibleinthedensegloomwhereintheymeltedaway.Andintheverywonderofthis,itwouldbeitselfagain;distinctandclearasever.
‘AreyoutheSpirit,sir,whosecomingwasforetoldtome?’askedScrooge.
‘Iam.’
Thevoicewassoftandgentle.Singularlylow,asifinsteadofbeingsoclosebesidehim,itwereatadistance.
‘Who,andwhatareyou?’Scroogedemanded.
‘IamtheGhostofChristmasPast.’
‘LongPast?’inquiredScrooge:observantofitsdwarfishstature.
‘No.Yourpast.’
Perhaps,Scroogecouldnothavetoldanybodywhy,ifanybodycouldhaveaskedhim;buthehadaspecialdesiretoseetheSpiritinhiscap;andbeggedhimtobecovered.
