Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 9. Little Mother

           Therain,carriedaslantbyflawsofwind,blackenedthatsideofthecentralbuildingwhichhehadvisitedlastnight,butleftanarrowdrytroughundertheleeofthewall,wherehewalkedupanddownamongthewaitsofstrawanddustandpaper,thewastedroppingsofthepump,andthestrayleavesofyesterday’sgreens.Itwasashaggardaviewoflifeasamanneedlookupon.

           Norwasitrelievedbyanyglimpseofthelittlecreaturewhohadbroughthimthere.Perhapssheglidedoutofherdoorwayandinatthatwhereherfatherlived,whilehisfacewasturnedfromboth;buthesawnothingofher.Itwastooearlyforherbrother;tohaveseenhimonce,wastohaveseenenoughofhimtoknowthathewouldbesluggishtoleavewhateverfrowsybedheoccupiedatnight;so,asArthurClennamwalkedupanddown,waitingforthegatetoopen,hecastaboutinhismindforfutureratherthanforpresentmeansofpursuinghisdiscoveries.

           Atlastthelodge-gateturned,andtheturnkey,standingonthestep,takinganearlycombathishair,wasreadytolethimout.Withajoyfulsenseofreleasehepassedthroughthelodge,andfoundhimselfagaininthelittleoutercourt-yardwherehehadspokentothebrotherlastnight.

           Therewasastringofpeoplealreadystragglingin,whomitwasnotdifficulttoidentifyasthenondescriptmessengers,go-betweens,anderrand-bearersoftheplace.

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