Холодний дім

Bell Yard

           Skimpole,fixingthesameangrystareoneachinsuccessionastheypassedandfollowedme.Mr.Jarndycegavehimgoodday."Goodday!"hesaidabruptlyandfiercely.Hewasatall,sallowmanwithacarewornheadonwhichbutlittlehairremained,adeeplylinedface,andprominenteyes.Hehadacombativelookandachafing,irritablemannerwhich,associatedwithhisfigurestilllargeandpowerful,thoughevidentlyinitsdeclineratheralarmedme.Hehadapeninhishand,andintheglimpseIcaughtofhisroominpassing,Isawthatitwascoveredwithalitterofpapers.Leavinghimstandingthere,wewentuptothetoproom.Itappedatthedoor,andalittleshrillvoiceinsidesaid,"Wearelockedin.Mrs.Blinder’sgotthekey!"Iappliedthekeyonhearingthisandopenedthedoor.Inapoorroomwithaslopingceilingandcontainingverylittlefurniturewasamiteofaboy,somefiveorsixyearsold,nursingandhushingaheavychildofeighteenmonths.Therewasnofire,thoughtheweatherwascold;bothchildrenwerewrappedinsomepoorshawlsandtippetsasasubstitute.Theirclothingwasnotsowarm,however,butthattheirnoseslookedredandpinchedandtheirsmallfiguresshrunkenastheboywalkedupanddownnursingandhushingthechildwithitsheadonhisshoulder."Whohaslockedyouupherealone?"wenaturallyasked."Charley,"saidtheboy,standingstilltogazeatus."IsCharleyyourbrother?""No.She’smysister,Charlotte.FathercalledherCharley.

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