Тяжкі часи

A Loophole

           Gradgrind,leadingeachawaybyahand;‘whatdoyoudohere?’

           ‘Wantedtoseewhatitwaslike,’returnedLouisa,shortly.

           ‘Whatitwaslike?’

           ‘Yes,father.’

           Therewasanairofjadedsullennessinthemboth,andparticularlyinthegirl:yet,strugglingthroughthedissatisfactionofherface,therewasalightwithnothingtorestupon,afirewithnothingtoburn,astarvedimaginationkeepinglifeinitselfsomehow,whichbrighteneditsexpression.Notwiththebrightnessnaturaltocheerfulyouth,butwithuncertain,eager,doubtfulflashes,whichhadsomethingpainfulinthem,analogoustothechangesonablindfacegropingitsway.

           Shewasachildnow,offifteenorsixteen;butatnodistantdaywouldseemtobecomeawomanallatonce.Herfatherthoughtsoashelookedather.Shewaspretty.Wouldhavebeenself-willed(hethoughtinhiseminentlypracticalway)butforherbringing-up.

           ‘Thomas,thoughIhavethefactbeforeme,Ifinditdifficulttobelievethatyou,withyoureducationandresources,shouldhavebroughtyoursistertoascenelikethis.’

           ‘Ibroughthim,father,’saidLouisa,quickly.‘Iaskedhimtocome.’

           ‘Iamsorrytohearit.Iamverysorryindeedtohearit.ItmakesThomasnobetter,anditmakesyouworse,Louisa.’

           Shelookedatherfatheragain,butnotearfelldownhercheek.

           ‘You!Thomasandyou,towhomthecircleofthesciencesisopen;Thomasandyou,whomaybesaidtoberepletewithfacts;Thomasandyou,whohavebeentrainedtomathematicalexactness;Thomasandyou,here!’criedMr

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Roboto Lora
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