Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 7. The Child of the Marshalsea

           

           ‘Whatisit,Tip?’

           ‘Why,youknowSlingobysight?’

           ‘Notthemantheycallthedealer?’

           ‘That’sthechap.He’llbeoutonMonday,andhe’sgoingtogivemeaberth.’

           ‘Whatisheadealerin,Tip?’

           ‘Horses.Allright!Ishalldonow,Amy.’

           Shelostsightofhimformonthsafterwards,andonlyheardfromhimonce.AwhisperpassedamongtheeldercollegiansthathehadbeenseenatamockauctioninMoorfields,pretendingtobuyplatedarticlesformassivesilver,andpayingforthemwiththegreatestliberalityinbanknotes;butitneverreachedherears.Oneeveningshewasaloneatwork—standingupatthewindow,tosavethetwilightlingeringabovethewall—whenheopenedthedoorandwalkedin.

           Shekissedandwelcomedhim;butwasafraidtoaskhimanyquestions.Hesawhowanxiousandtimidshewas,andappearedsorry.

           ‘Iamafraid,Amy,you’llbevexedthistime.UponmylifeIam!’

           ‘Iamverysorrytohearyousayso,Tip.Haveyoucomeback?’

           ‘Why—yes.’

           ‘Notexpectingthistimethatwhatyouhadfoundwouldanswerverywell,IamlesssurprisedandsorrythanImighthavebeen,Tip.’

           ‘Ah!Butthat’snottheworstofit.’

           ‘Nottheworstofit?’

           ‘Don’tlooksostartled.No,Amy,nottheworstofit.Ihavecomeback,yousee;but—don’tlooksostartled—IhavecomebackinwhatImaycallanewway.Iamoffthevolunteerlistaltogether.Iaminnow,asoneoftheregulars.

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