Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 31. Closed

           Shestoodatthewindow,bewildered,lookingdownintothisprisonasitwereoutofherowndifferentprison,whenasoftwordortwoofsurprisemadeherstart,andLittleDorritstoodbeforeher.

           ‘Isitpossible,MrsClennam,thatyouaresohappilyrecoveredas—’

           LittleDorritstopped,fortherewasneitherhappinessnorhealthinthefacethatturnedtoher.

           ‘Thisisnotrecovery;itisnotstrength;Idon’tknowwhatitis.’Withanagitatedwaveofherhand,sheputallthataside.‘YouhaveapacketleftwithyouwhichyouweretogivetoArthur,ifitwasnotreclaimedbeforethisplaceclosedto-night.’

           ‘Yes.’

           ‘Ireclaimit.’

           LittleDorrittookitfromherbosom,andgaveitintoherhand,whichremainedstretchedoutafterreceivingit.

           ‘Haveyouanyideaofitscontents?’

           FrightenedbyherbeingtherewiththatnewpowerOfMovementinher,which,asshesaidherself,wasnotstrength,andwhichwasunrealtolookupon,asthoughapictureorstatuehadbeenanimated,LittleDorritanswered‘No.’

           ‘Readthem.’

           LittleDorrittookthepacketfromthestilloutstretchedhand,andbroketheseal.MrsClennamthengavehertheinnerpacketthatwasaddressedtoherself,andheldtheother.Theshadowofthewallandoftheprisonbuildings,whichmadetheroomsombreatnoon,madeittoodarktoreadthere,withtheduskdeepeningapace,saveinthewindow.Inthewindow,wherealittleofthebrightsummereveningskycouldshineuponher,LittleDorritstood,andread.Afterabrokenexclamationorsoofwonderandofterror,shereadinsilence.

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