Різдвяна історія
Chapter 1
Thecityclockshadonlyjustgonethree,butitwasquitedarkalready—ithadnotbeenlightallday—andcandleswereflaringinthewindowsoftheneighbouringoffices,likeruddysmearsuponthepalpablebrownair.Thefogcamepouringinateverychinkandkeyhole,andwassodensewithout,thatalthoughthecourtwasofthenarrowest,thehousesoppositeweremerephantoms.Toseethedingycloudcomedroopingdown,obscuringeverything,onemighthavethoughtthatNaturelivedhardby,andwasbrewingonalargescale.
ThedoorofScrooge’scounting-housewasopenthathemightkeephiseyeuponhisclerk,whoinadismallittlecellbeyond,asortoftank,wascopyingletters.Scroogehadaverysmallfire,buttheclerk’sfirewassoverymuchsmallerthatitlookedlikeonecoal.Buthecouldn’treplenishit,forScroogekeptthecoal-boxinhisownroom;andsosurelyastheclerkcameinwiththeshovel,themasterpredictedthatitwouldbenecessaryforthemtopart.Whereforetheclerkputonhiswhitecomforter,andtriedtowarmhimselfatthecandle;inwhicheffort,notbeingamanofastrongimagination,hefailed.
‘AmerryChristmas,uncle!Godsaveyou!’criedacheerfulvoice.ItwasthevoiceofScrooge’snephew,whocameuponhimsoquicklythatthiswasthefirstintimationhehadofhisapproach.
