Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 7. The Child of the Marshalsea

           

           ‘Isitverypleasanttobethere,Bob?’

           ‘Prime,’saidtheturnkey.

           ‘Wasfathereverthere?’

           ‘Hem!’coughedtheturnkey.‘Oyes,hewasthere,sometimes.’

           ‘Ishesorrynottobetherenow?’

           ‘N-notparticular,’saidtheturnkey.

           ‘Noranyofthepeople?’sheasked,glancingatthelistlesscrowdwithin.‘Oareyouquitesureandcertain,Bob?’

           AtthisdifficultpointoftheconversationBobgavein,andchangedthesubjecttohard-bake:alwayshislastresourcewhenhefoundhislittlefriendgettinghimintoapolitical,social,ortheologicalcorner.ButthiswastheoriginofaseriesofSundayexcursionsthatthesetwocuriouscompanionsmadetogether.TheyusedtoissuefromthelodgeonalternateSundayafternoonswithgreatgravity,boundforsomemeadowsorgreenlanesthathadbeenelaboratelyappointedbytheturnkeyinthecourseoftheweek;andthereshepickedgrassandflowerstobringhome,whilehesmokedhispipe.Afterwards,thereweretea-gardens,shrimps,ale,andotherdelicacies;andthentheywouldcomebackhandinhand,unlessshewasmorethanusuallytired,andhadfallenasleeponhisshoulder.

           Inthoseearlydays,theturnkeyfirstbeganprofoundlytoconsideraquestionwhichcosthimsomuchmentallabour,thatitremainedundeterminedonthedayofhisdeath.

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