Холодний дім

In Fashion

           Tulkinghorntakesouthispapers,askspermissiontoplacethemonagoldentalismanofatableatmyLady’selbow,putsonhisspectacles,andbeginstoreadbythelightofashadedlamp."’InChancery.BetweenJohnJarndyce’"MyLadyinterrupts,requestinghimtomissasmanyoftheformalhorrorsashecan.Mr.Tulkinghornglancesoverhisspectaclesandbeginsagainlowerdown.MyLadycarelesslyandscornfullyabstractsherattention.SirLeicesterinagreatchairlooksatthefileandappearstohaveastatelylikingforthelegalrepetitionsandprolixitiesasrangingamongthenationalbulwarks.IthappensthatthefireishotwheremyLadysitsandthatthehand-screenismorebeautifulthanuseful,beingpricelessbutsmall.MyLady,changingherposition,seesthepapersonthetablelooksatthemnearerlooksatthemnearerstillasksimpulsively,"Whocopiedthat?"Mr.Tulkinghornstopsshort,surprisedbymyLady’sanimationandherunusualtone."Isitwhatyoupeoplecalllaw-hand?"sheasks,lookingfullathiminhercarelesswayagainandtoyingwithherscreen."Notquite.Probably"Mr.Tulkinghornexaminesitashespeaks"thelegalcharacterwhichithaswasacquiredaftertheoriginalhandwasformed.Whydoyouask?""Anythingtovarythisdetestablemonotony.Oh,goon,do!"Mr.Tulkinghornreadsagain.Theheatisgreater;myLadyscreensherface.SirLeicesterdozes,startsupsuddenly,andcries,"Eh?Whatdoyousay?""IsayIamafraid,"saysMr.Tulkinghorn,whohadrisenhastily,"thatLadyDedlockisill

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