Тяжёлые времена

Gunpowder

           Harthouse,’saidTom,softeninginhisadmirationofhispatron,butshakinghisheadsullenlytoo,‘youcan’ttellherthatIeverpraisedherforbeingmercenary.Imayhavepraisedherforbeingthecontrary,andIshoulddoitagain,ifIhadasgoodreason.However,nevermindthisnow;it’snotveryinterestingtoyou,andIamsickofthesubject.’

           Theywalkedontothehouse,whereLouisaquittedhervisitor’sarmandwentin.Hestoodlookingafterher,assheascendedthesteps,andpassedintotheshadowofthedoor;thenputhishanduponherbrother’sshoulderagain,andinvitedhimwithaconfidentialnodtoawalkinthegarden.

           ‘Tom,myfinefellow,Iwanttohaveawordwithyou.’

           TheyhadstoppedamongadisorderofrosesitwaspartofMr.Bounderby’shumilitytokeepNickits’srosesonareducedscaleandTomsatdownonaterrace-parapet,pluckingbudsandpickingthemtopieces;whilehispowerfulFamiliarstoodoverhim,withafootupontheparapet,andhisfigureeasilyrestingonthearmsupportedbythatknee.Theywerejustvisiblefromherwindow.Perhapsshesawthem.

           ‘Tom,what’sthematter?’

           ‘Oh!Mr.Harthouse,’saidTomwithagroan,‘Iamhardup,andbotheredoutofmylife.’

           ‘Mygoodfellow,soamI.’

           ‘You!’returnedTom.‘Youarethepictureofindependence.Mr.Harthouse,Iaminahorriblemess.YouhavenoideawhatastateIhavegotmyselfintowhatastatemysistermighthavegotmeoutof,ifshewouldonlyhavedoneit.

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