Крошка Доррит

Chapter 8. The Lock

           Theoldmanstoppedandlookedround,withtheexpressioninhisweakgreyeyesofonewhosethoughtshadbeenfaroff,andwhowasalittledullofhearingalso.

           ‘Pray,sir,’saidArthur,repeatinghisquestion,‘whatisthisplace?’

           ‘Ay!Thisplace?’returnedtheoldman,stayinghispinchofsnuffonitsroad,andpointingattheplacewithoutlookingatit.‘ThisistheMarshalsea,sir.’

           ‘Thedebtors’prison?’

           ‘Sir,’saidtheoldman,withtheairofdeemingitnotquitenecessarytoinsistuponthatdesignation,‘thedebtors’prison.’

           Heturnedhimselfabout,andwenton.

           ‘Ibegyourpardon,’saidArthur,stoppinghimoncemore,‘butwillyouallowmetoaskyouanotherquestion?Cananyonegoinhere?’

           ‘Anyonecangoin,’repliedtheoldman;plainlyaddingbythesignificanceofhisemphasis,‘butitisnoteveryonewhocangoout.’

           ‘Pardonmeoncemore.Areyoufamiliarwiththeplace?’

           ‘Sir,’returnedtheoldman,squeezinghislittlepacketofsnuffinhishand,andturninguponhisinterrogatorasifsuchquestionshurthim.‘Iam.’

           ‘Ibegyoutoexcuseme.Iamnotimpertinentlycurious,buthaveagoodobject.DoyouknowthenameofDorrithere?’

           ‘Myname,sir,’repliedtheoldmanmostunexpectedly,‘isDorrit.’

           Arthurpulledoffhishattohim.‘Grantmethefavourofhalf-a-dozenwords.Iwaswhollyunpreparedforyourannouncement,andhopethatassuranceismysufficientapologyforhavingtakenthelibertyofaddressingyou.IhaverecentlycomehometoEnglandafteralongabsence.

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