Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 1. Fellow Travellers

           Thecoldwasverysevere.Oneneededyouthandstrengthtobearit.However,havingthemandtheblessingofHeaven—

           Yes,thatwasverygood.‘Buttheconfinement,’saidthegrey-hairedgentleman.

           Thereweremanydays,eveninbadweather,whenitwaspossibletowalkaboutoutside.Itwasthecustomtobeatalittletrack,andtakeexercisethere.

           ‘Butthespace,’urgedthegrey-hairedgentleman.‘Sosmall.So—ha—verylimited.’

           Monsieurwouldrecalltohimselfthatthereweretherefugestovisit,andthattrackshadtobemadetothemalso.

           Monsieurstillurged,ontheotherhand,thatthespacewasso—ha—hum—soverycontracted.Morethanthat,itwasalwaysthesame,alwaysthesame.

           Withadeprecatingsmile,thehostgentlyraisedandgentlyloweredhisshoulders.Thatwastrue,heremarked,butpermithimtosaythatalmostallobjectshadtheirvariouspointsofview.Monsieurandhedidnotseethispoorlifeofhisfromthesamepointofview.Monsieurwasnotusedtoconfinement.

           ‘I—ha—yes,verytrue,’saidthegrey-hairedgentleman.Heseemedtoreceivequiteashockfromtheforceoftheargument.

           Monsieur,asanEnglishtraveller,surroundedbyallmeansoftravellingpleasantly;doubtlesspossessingfortune,carriages,andservants—

           ‘Perfectly,perfectly.Withoutdoubt,’saidthegentleman.

           Monsieurcouldnoteasilyplacehimselfinthepositionofapersonwhohadnotthepowertochoose,Iwillgohereto-morrow,ortherenextday;Iwillpassthesebarriers,Iwillenlargethosebounds.

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