Крихітка Дорріт

           ‘Ah,YoungJohn!Howdoyoudo,howdoyoudo!’

           ‘Prettywell,Ithankyou,sir.Ihopeyouarethesame.’

           ‘Yes,JohnChivery;yes.Nothingtocomplainof.’

           ‘Ihavetakentheliberty,sir,of—’

           ‘Eh?’TheFatheroftheMarshalseaalwayslifteduphiseyebrowsatthispoint,andbecameamiablydistraughtandsmilinglyabsentinmind.

           ‘—Afewcigars,sir.’

           ‘Oh!’(Forthemoment,excessivelysurprised.)‘Thankyou,YoungJohn,thankyou.Butreally,IamafraidIamtoo—No?Wellthen,Iwillsaynomoreaboutit.Putthemonthemantelshelf,ifyouplease,YoungJohn.Andsitdown,sitdown.Youarenotastranger,John.’

           ‘Thankyou,sir,Iamsure—Miss;’hereYoungJohnturnedthegreathatroundandrounduponhisleft-hand,likeaslowlytwirlingmouse-cage;‘MissAmyquitewell,sir?’

           ‘Yes,John,yes;verywell.Sheisout.’

           ‘Indeed,sir?’

           ‘Yes,John.MissAmyisgoneforanairing.Myyoungpeopleallgooutagooddeal.Butattheirtimeoflife,it’snatural,John.’

           ‘Verymuchso,Iamsure,sir.’

           ‘Anairing.Anairing.Yes.’Hewasblandlytappinghisfingersonthetable,andcastinghiseyesupatthewindow.‘AmyhasgoneforanairingontheIronBridge.ShehasbecomequitepartialtotheIronBridgeoflate,andseemstoliketowalktherebetterthananywhere.’Hereturnedtoconversation.‘Yourfatherisnotondutyatpresent,Ithink,John?’

           ‘No,sir,hecomesonlaterintheafternoon.’Anothertwirlofthegreathat,andthenYoungJohnsaid,rising,‘IamafraidImustwishyougoodday,sir.