Холодний дім

Mr. Bucket

           Bucket,comingbehindsomeunder-sizedyoungmanwithashininghaton,andhissleekhairtwistedintooneflatcurloneachsideofhishead,almostwithoutglancingathimtoucheshimwithhisstick,uponwhichtheyoungman,lookinground,instantlyevaporates.ForthemostpartMr.Bucketnoticesthingsingeneral,withafaceasunchangingasthegreatmourningringonhislittlefingerorthebrooch,composedofnotmuchdiamondandagooddealofsetting,whichhewearsinhisshirt.WhentheycomeatlasttoTom-all-Alone’s,Mr.Bucketstopsforamomentatthecornerandtakesalightedbull’s-eyefromtheconstableondutythere,whothenaccompanieshimwithhisownparticularbull’s-eyeathiswaist.Betweenhistwoconductors,Mr.Snagsbypassesalongthemiddleofavillainousstreet,undrained,unventilated,deepinblackmudandcorruptwaterthoughtheroadsaredryelsewhereandreekingwithsuchsmellsandsightsthathe,whohaslivedinLondonallhislife,canscarcebelievehissenses.BranchingfromthisstreetanditsheapsofruinsareotherstreetsandcourtssoinfamousthatMr.Snagsbysickensinbodyandmindandfeelsasifheweregoingeverymomentdeeperdownintotheinfernalgulf."Drawoffabithere,Mr.Snagsby,"saysBucketasakindofshabbypalanquinisbornetowardsthem,surroundedbyanoisycrowd.

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Roboto Lora
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