Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 5. Something Wrong Somewhere

           Itwasquiteawalk,bymysteriousstaircasesandcorridors,fromMrsGeneral’sapartment,—hoodwinkedbyanarrowsidestreetwithalowgloomybridgeinit,anddungeon-likeoppositetenements,theirwallsbesmearedwithathousanddownwardstainsandstreaks,asifeverycrazyapertureinthemhadbeenweepingtearsofrustintotheAdriaticforcenturies—toMrDorrit’sapartment:withawholeEnglishhouse-frontofwindow,aprospectofbeautifulchurch-domesrisingintotheblueskysheeroutofthewaterwhichreflectedthem,andahushedmurmuroftheGrandCanallavingthedoorwaysbelow,wherehisgondolasandgondoliersattendedhispleasure,drowsilyswinginginalittleforestofpiles.

           MrDorrit,inaresplendentdressing-gownandcap—thedormantgrubthathadsolongbideditstimeamongtheCollegianshadburstintoararebutterfly—rosetoreceiveMrsGeneral.AchairtoMrsGeneral.Aneasierchair,sir;whatareyoudoing,whatareyouabout,whatdoyoumean?Now,leaveus!

           ‘MrsGeneral,’saidMrDorrit,‘Itooktheliberty—’

           ‘Bynomeans,’MrsGeneralinterposed.‘Iwasquiteatyourdisposition.Ihadhadmycoffee.’

           ‘—Itooktheliberty,’saidMrDorritagain,withthemagnificentplacidityofonewhowasabovecorrection,‘tosolicitthefavourofalittleprivateconversationwithyou,becauseIfeelratherworriedrespectingmy—ha—myyoungerdaughter.

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