Chapter 11. A Letter from Little Dorrit

           

           DearMrClennam,

           AsIsaidinmylastthatitwasbestfornobodytowritetome,andasmysendingyouanotherlittlelettercanthereforegiveyounoothertroublethanthetroubleofreadingit(perhapsyoumaynotfindleisureforeventhat,thoughIhopeyouwillsomeday),Iamnowgoingtodevoteanhourtowritingtoyouagain.Thistime,IwritefromRome.

           WeleftVenicebeforeMrandMrsGowandid,buttheywerenotsolongupontheroadaswewere,anddidnottravelbythesameway,andsowhenwearrivedwefoundtheminalodginghere,inaplacecalledtheViaGregoriana.Idaresayyouknowit.

           NowIamgoingtotellyouallIcanaboutthem,becauseIknowthatiswhatyoumostwanttohear.Theirsisnotaverycomfortablelodging,butperhapsIthoughtitlesssowhenIfirstsawitthanyouwouldhavedone,becauseyouhavebeeninmanydifferentcountriesandhaveseenmanydifferentcustoms.Ofcourseitisafar,farbetterplace—millionsoftimes—thananyIhaveeverbeenusedtountillately;andIfancyIdon’tlookatitwithmyowneyes,butwithhers.Foritwouldbeeasytoseethatshehasalwaysbeenbroughtupinatenderandhappyhome,evenifshehadnottoldmesowithgreatloveforit.

           Well,itisaratherbarelodginguparatherdarkcommonstaircase,anditisnearlyallalargedullroom,whereMrGowanpaints.

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