Холодний дім

A Wintry Day and Night

           Ithascrept,asifforshelter,intothelintelsofthegreatdoorunderit,intothecornersofthewindows,intoeverychinkandcreviceofretreat,andtherewastesanddies.Itisfallingstill;upontheroof,upontheskylight,eventhroughtheskylight,anddrip,drip,drip,withtheregularityoftheGhost’sWalk,onthestonefloorbelow.Thetrooper,hisoldrecollectionsawakenedbythesolitarygrandeurofagreathousenonoveltytohimonceatChesneyWoldgoesupthestairsandthroughthechiefrooms,holdinguphislightatarm’slength.Thinkingofhisvariedfortuneswithinthelastfewweeks,andofhisrusticboyhood,andofthetwoperiodsofhislifesostrangelybroughttogetheracrossthewideintermediatespace;thinkingofthemurderedmanwhoseimageisfreshinhismind;thinkingoftheladywhohasdisappearedfromtheseveryroomsandthetokensofwhoserecentpresenceareallhere;thinkingofthemasterofthehouseupstairsandoftheforeboding,"Whowilltellhim!"helookshereandlooksthere,andreflectshowheMIGHTseesomethingnow,whichitwouldtaxhisboldnesstowalkupto,layhishandupon,andprovetobeafancy.Butitisallblank,blankasthedarknessaboveandbelow,whilehegoesupthegreatstaircaseagain,blankastheoppressivesilence."Allisstillinreadiness,GeorgeRouncewell?""Quiteorderlyandright,SirLeicester.""Nowordofanykind?"Thetroopershakeshishead."Noletterthatcanpossiblyhavebeenoverlooked?"Butheknowsthereisnosuchhopeasthatandlayshisheaddownwithoutlookingforananswer

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Roboto Lora
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