Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 24. The Evening of a Long Day

           Thebellsofthechurcheshaddonetheirworstinthewayofclangingamongtheunmelodiousechoesofthestreets,andthelightedwindowsofthechurcheshadceasedtobeyellowinthegreydusk,andhaddiedoutopaqueblack.MrsSparkler,lyingonhersofa,lookingthroughanopenwindowattheoppositesideofanarrowstreetoverboxesofmignonetteandflowers,wastiredoftheview.MrsSparkler,lookingatanotherwindowwhereherhusbandstoodinthebalcony,wastiredofthatview.MrsSparkler,lookingatherselfinhermourning,waseventiredofthatview:though,naturally,notsotiredofthatasoftheothertwo.

           ‘It’slikelyinginawell,’saidMrsSparkler,changingherpositionfretfully.‘Dearme,Edmund,ifyouhaveanythingtosay,whydon’tyousayit?’

           MrSparklermighthaverepliedwithingenuousness,‘Mylife,Ihavenothingtosay.’But,asthereparteedidnotoccurtohim,hecontentedhimselfwithcominginfromthebalconyandstandingatthesideofhiswife’scouch.

           ‘Goodgracious,Edmund!’saidMrsSparklermorefretfullystill,‘youareabsolutelyputtingmignonetteupyournose!Praydon’t!’

           MrSparkler,inabsenceofmind—perhapsinamoreliteralabsenceofmindthanisusuallyunderstoodbythephrase—hadsmeltsohardataspriginhishandastobeonthevergeoftheoffenceinquestion.Hesmiled,said,‘Iaskyourpardon,mydear,’andthrewitoutofwindow.

           ‘Youmakemyheadachebyremaininginthatposition,Edmund,’saidMrsSparkler,raisinghereyestohimafteranotherminute;‘youlooksoaggravatinglylargebythislight.

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