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- Чарльз Диккенс
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'
Oh
!
If
that
's
all
,
'
observed
Tom
,
'
it
would
n't
much
matter
,
even
if
I
was
to
forget
it
,
for
Loo
's
not
likely
to
think
of
you
unless
she
sees
you
.
'
Having
paid
for
his
entertainment
with
this
agreeable
compliment
,
he
relapsed
into
a
hangdog
silence
until
there
was
no
more
India
ale
left
,
when
he
said
,
'
Well
,
Mrs.
Sparsit
,
I
must
be
off
!
'
and
went
off
.
Next
day
,
Saturday
,
Mrs.
Sparsit
sat
at
her
window
all
day
long
looking
at
the
customers
coming
in
and
out
,
watching
the
postmen
,
keeping
an
eye
on
the
general
traffic
of
the
street
,
revolving
many
things
in
her
mind
,
but
,
above
all
,
keeping
her
attention
on
her
staircase
.
The
evening
come
,
she
put
on
her
bonnet
and
shawl
,
and
went
quietly
out
:
having
her
reasons
for
hovering
in
a
furtive
way
about
the
station
by
which
a
passenger
would
arrive
from
Yorkshire
,
and
for
preferring
to
peep
into
it
round
pillars
and
corners
,
and
out
of
ladies
'
waiting-room
windows
,
to
appearing
in
its
precincts
openly
.
Tom
was
in
attendance
,
and
loitered
about
until
the
expected
train
came
in
.
It
brought
no
Mr.
Harthouse
.
Tom
waited
until
the
crowd
had
dispersed
,
and
the
bustle
was
over
;
and
then
referred
to
a
posted
list
of
trains
,
and
took
counsel
with
porters
.
That
done
,
he
strolled
away
idly
,
stopping
in
the
street
and
looking
up
it
and
down
it
,
and
lifting
his
hat
off
and
putting
it
on
again
,
and
yawning
and
stretching
himself
,
and
exhibiting
all
the
symptoms
of
mortal
weariness
to
be
expected
in
one
who
had
still
to
wait
until
the
next
train
should
come
in
,
an
hour
and
forty
minutes
hence
.
'
This
is
a
device
to
keep
him
out
of
the
way
,
'
said
Mrs.
Sparsit
,
starting
from
the
dull
office
window
whence
she
had
watched
him
last
.
'
Harthouse
is
with
his
sister
now
!
'
It
was
the
conception
of
an
inspired
moment
,
and
she
shot
off
with
her
utmost
swiftness
to
work
it
out
.
The
station
for
the
country
house
was
at
the
opposite
end
of
the
town
,
the
time
was
short
,
the
road
not
easy
;
but
she
was
so
quick
in
pouncing
on
a
disengaged
coach
,
so
quick
in
darting
out
of
it
,
producing
her
money
,
seizing
her
ticket
,
and
diving
into
the
train
,
that
she
was
borne
along
the
arches
spanning
the
land
of
coal-pits
past
and
present
,
as
if
she
had
been
caught
up
in
a
cloud
and
whirled
away
.
All
the
journey
,
immovable
in
the
air
though
never
left
behind
;
plain
to
the
dark
eyes
of
her
mind
,
as
the
electric
wires
which
ruled
a
colossal
strip
of
music-paper
out
of
the
evening
sky
,
were
plain
to
the
dark
eyes
of
her
body
;
Mrs.
Sparsit
saw
her
staircase
,
with
the
figure
coming
down
.
Very
near
the
bottom
now
.
Upon
the
brink
of
the
abyss
.
An
overcast
September
evening
,
just
at
nightfall
,
saw
beneath
its
drooping
eyelids
Mrs.
Sparsit
glide
out
of
her
carriage
,
pass
down
the
wooden
steps
of
the
little
station
into
a
stony
road
,
cross
it
into
a
green
lane
,
and
become
hidden
in
a
summer-growth
of
leaves
and
branches
.
One
or
two
late
birds
sleepily
chirping
in
their
nests
,
and
a
bat
heavily
crossing
and
recrossing
her
,
and
the
reek
of
her
own
tread
in
the
thick
dust
that
felt
like
velvet
,
were
all
Mrs.
Sparsit
heard
or
saw
until
she
very
softly
closed
a
gate
.
