Холодний дім

Mr. Bucket

           Itisoffensivetoeverysense;eventhegrosscandleburnspaleandsicklyinthepollutedair.Thereareacoupleofbenchesandahigherbenchbywayoftable.Themenlieasleepwheretheystumbleddown,butthewomensitbythecandle.Lyinginthearmsofthewomanwhohasspokenisaveryyoungchild."Why,whatagedoyoucallthatlittlecreature?"saysBucket."Itlooksasifitwasbornyesterday."Heisnotatallroughaboutit;andasheturnshislightgentlyontheinfant,Mr.Snagsbyisstrangelyremindedofanotherinfant,encircledwithlight,thathehasseeninpictures."Heisnotthreeweeksoldyet,sir,"saysthewoman."Isheyourchild?""Mine."Theotherwoman,whowasbendingoveritwhentheycamein,stoopsdownagainandkissesitasitliesasleep."Youseemasfondofitasifyouwerethemotheryourself,"saysMr.Bucket."Iwasthemotherofonelikeit,master,anditdied.""Ah,Jenny,Jenny!"saystheotherwomantoher."Betterso.Muchbettertothinkofdeadthanalive,Jenny!Muchbetter!""Why,youan’tsuchanunnaturalwoman,Ihope,"returnsBucketsternly,"astowishyourownchilddead?""Godknowsyouareright,master,"shereturns."Iamnot.I’dstandbetweenitanddeathwithmyownlifeifIcould,astrueasanyprettylady.""Thendon’ttalkinthatwrongmanner,"saysMr.Bucket,mollifiedagain."Whydoyoudoit?""It’sbroughtintomyhead,master,"returnsthewoman,hereyesfillingwithtears,"whenIlookdownatthechildlyingso.Ifitwasnevertowakenomore,you’dthinkmemad,Ishouldtakeonso.Iknowthatverywell.

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Roboto Lora
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