Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am Shown Two Interesting Penitents

           Creaklethatevening.

           OntheappointeddayIthinkitwasthenextday,butnomatter-TraddlesandIrepairedtotheprisonwhereMr.Creaklewaspowerful.Itwasanimmenseandsolidbuilding,erectedatavastexpense.Icouldnothelpthinking,asweapproachedthegate,whatanuproarwouldhavebeenmadeinthecountry,ifanydeludedmanhadproposedtospendonehalfthemoneyithadcost,ontheerectionofanindustrialschoolfortheyoung,orahouseofrefugeforthedeservingold.

           Inanofficethatmighthavebeenontheground-flooroftheTowerofBabel,itwassomassivelyconstructed,wewerepresentedtoouroldschoolmaster;whowasoneofagroup,composedoftwoorthreeofthebusiersortofmagistrates,andsomevisitorstheyhadbrought.Hereceivedme,likeamanwhohadformedmymindinbygoneyears,andhadalwayslovedmetenderly.OnmyintroducingTraddles,Mr.Creakleexpressed,inlikemanner,butinaninferiordegree,thathehadalwaysbeenTraddles’sguide,philosopher,andfriend.Ourvenerableinstructorwasagreatdealolder,andnotimprovedinappearance.Hisfacewasasfieryasever;hiseyeswereassmall,andratherdeeperset.Thescanty,wet-lookinggreyhair,bywhichIrememberedhim,wasalmostgone;andthethickveinsinhisbaldheadwerenonethemoreagreeabletolookat.

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