Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 29. A Plea in the Marshalsea

           

           ‘Ihavethoughtofyou,LittleDorrit,everyday,everyhour,everyminute,sinceIhavebeenhere.’

           ‘Haveyou?Haveyou?’

           Hesawthebrightdelightofherface,andtheflushthatkindledinit,withafeelingofshame.He,abroken,bankrupt,sick,dishonouredprisoner.

           ‘Iwasherebeforethegateswereopened,butIwasafraidtocomestraighttoyou.Ishouldhavedoneyoumoreharmthangood,atfirst;fortheprisonwassofamiliarandyetsostrange,anditbroughtbacksomanyremembrancesofmypoorfather,andofyoutoo,thatatfirstitoverpoweredme.ButwewenttoMrChiverybeforewecametothegate,andhebroughtusin,andgotJohn’sroomforus—mypooroldroom,youknow—andwewaitedtherealittle.Ibroughttheflowerstothedoor,butyoudidn’thearme.’

           Shelookedsomethingmorewomanlythanwhenshehadgoneaway,andtheripeningtouchoftheItaliansunwasvisibleuponherface.But,otherwise,shewasquiteunchanged.Thesamedeep,timidearnestnessthathehadalwaysseeninher,andneverwithoutemotion,hesawstill.Ifithadanewmeaningthatsmotehimtotheheart,thechangewasinhisperception,notinher.

           Shetookoffheroldbonnet,hungitintheoldplace,andnoiselesslybegan,withMaggy’shelp,tomakehisroomasfreshandneatasitcouldbemade,andtosprinkleitwithapleasant-smellingwater.Whenthatwasdone,thebasket,whichwasfilledwithgrapesandotherfruit,wasunpacked,andallitscontentswerequietlyputaway.

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