Тяжкі часи

Stephen Blackpool

           Asherecoiled,lookingdownatit,itraiseditselfupintotheformofawomaninasittingattitude.

           ‘Heaven’smercy,woman!’hecried,fallingfartherofffromthefigure.‘Hastthoucomebackagain!’

           Suchawoman!Adisabled,drunkencreature,barelyabletopreservehersittingposturebysteadyingherselfwithonebegrimedhandonthefloor,whiletheotherwassopurposelessintryingtopushawayhertangledhairfromherface,thatitonlyblindedherthemorewiththedirtuponit.Acreaturesofoultolookat,inhertatters,stainsandsplashes,butsomuchfoulerthanthatinhermoralinfamy,thatitwasashamefulthingeventoseeher.

           Afteranimpatientoathortwo,andsomestupidclawingofherselfwiththehandnotnecessarytohersupport,shegotherhairawayfromhereyessufficientlytoobtainasightofhim.Thenshesatswayingherbodytoandfro,andmakinggestureswithherunnervedarm,whichseemedintendedastheaccompanimenttoafitoflaughter,thoughherfacewasstolidanddrowsy.

           ‘Eigh,lad?What,yo’rthere?’Somehoarsesoundsmeantforthis,camemockinglyoutofheratlast;andherheaddroppedforwardonherbreast.

           ‘Backagen?’shescreeched,aftersomeminutes,asifhehadthatmomentsaidit.‘Yes!Andbackagen.Backageneverandeversooften.Back?Yes,back

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