Мидлмарч

           Brookesatdowninhisarm-chair,stretchedhislegstowardsthewood-fire,whichhadfallenintoawondrousmassofglowingdicebetweenthedogs,andrubbedhishandsgently,lookingverymildlytowardsDorothea,butwithaneutralleisurelyair,asifhehadnothingparticulartosay.Dorotheaclosedherpamphlet,assoonasshewasawareofheruncle’spresence,androseasiftogo.Usuallyshewouldhavebeeninterestedaboutheruncle’smercifulerrandonbehalfofthecriminal,butherlateagitationhadmadeherabsent-minded.

           "IcamebackbyLowick,youknow,"saidMr.Brooke,notasifwithanyintentiontoarrestherdeparture,butapparentlyfromhisusualtendencytosaywhathehadsaidbefore.ThisfundamentalprincipleofhumanspeechwasmarkedlyexhibitedinMr.Brooke."IlunchedthereandsawCasaubon’slibrary,andthatkindofthing.There’sasharpair,driving.Won’tyousitdown,mydear?Youlookcold."

           Dorotheafeltquiteinclinedtoaccepttheinvitation.Sometimes,whenheruncle’seasywayoftakingthingsdidnothappentobeexasperating,itwasrathersoothing.Shethrewoffhermantleandbonnet,andsatdownoppositetohim,enjoyingtheglow,butliftingupherbeautifulhandsforascreen.Theywerenotthinhands,orsmallhands;butpowerful,feminine,maternalhands.Sheseemedtobeholdingthemupinpropitiationforherpassionatedesiretoknowandtothink,whichintheunfriendlymediumsofTiptonandFreshitthadissuedincryingandredeyelids.