Bleak House Charles Dickens (classic books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
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âWell, Charley,â said I, looking over a copy of the letter O in which it was represented as square, triangular, pear-shaped, and collapsed in all kinds of ways, âwe are improving. If we only get to make it round, we shall be perfect, Charley.â
Then I made one, and Charley made one, and the pen wouldnât join Charleyâs neatly, but twisted it up into a knot.
âNever mind, Charley. We shall do it in time.â
Charley laid down her pen, the copy being finished, opened and shut her cramped little hand, looked gravely at the page, half in pride and half in doubt, and got up, and dropped me a curtsy.
âThank you, miss. If you please, miss, did you know a poor person of the name of Jenny?â
âA brickmakerâs wife, Charley? Yes.â
âShe came and spoke to me when I was out a little while ago, and said you knew her, miss. She asked me if I wasnât the young ladyâs little maidâ âmeaning you for the young lady, missâ âand I said yes, miss.â
âI thought she had left this neighbourhood altogether, Charley.â
âSo she had, miss, but sheâs come back again to where she used to liveâ âshe and Liz. Did you know another poor person of the name of Liz, miss?â
âI think I do, Charley, though not by name.â
âThatâs what she said!â returned Charley. âThey have both come back, miss, and have been tramping high and low.â
âTramping high and low, have they, Charley?â
âYes, miss.â If Charley could only have made the letters in her copy as round as the eyes with which she looked into my face, they would have been excellent. âAnd this poor person came about the house three or four days, hoping to get a glimpse of you, missâ âall she wanted, she saidâ âbut you were away. That was when she saw me. She saw me a-going about, miss,â said Charley with a short laugh of the greatest delight and pride, âand she thought I looked like your maid!â
âDid she though, really, Charley?â
âYes, miss!â said Charley. âReally and truly.â And Charley, with another short laugh of the purest glee, made her eyes very round again and looked as serious as became my maid. I was never tired of seeing Charley in the full enjoyment of that great dignity, standing before me with her youthful face and figure, and her steady manner, and her childish exultation breaking through it now and then in the pleasantest way.
âAnd where did you see her, Charley?â said I.
My little maidâs countenance fell as she replied, âBy the doctorâs shop, miss.â For Charley wore her black frock yet.
I asked if the brickmakerâs wife were ill, but Charley said no. It was someone else. Someone in her cottage who had tramped down to Saint Albans and was tramping he didnât know where. A poor boy, Charley said. No father, no mother, no anyone. âLike as Tom might have been, miss, if Emma and me had died after father,â said Charley, her round eyes filling with tears.
âAnd she was getting medicine for him, Charley?â
âShe said, miss,â returned Charley, âhow that he had once done as much for her.â
My little maidâs face was so eager and her quiet hands were folded so closely in one another as she stood looking at me that I had no great difficulty in reading her thoughts. âWell, Charley,â said I, âit appears to me that you and I can do no better than go round to Jennyâs and see whatâs the matter.â
The alacrity with which Charley brought my bonnet and veil, and having dressed me, quaintly pinned herself into her warm shawl and made herself look like a little old woman, sufficiently expressed her readiness. So Charley and I, without saying anything to anyone, went out.
It was a cold, wild night, and the trees shuddered in the wind. The rain had been thick and heavy all day, and with little intermission for many days. None was falling just then, however. The sky had partly cleared, but was very gloomyâ âeven above us, where a few stars were shining. In the north and northwest, where the sun had set three hours before, there was a pale dead light both beautiful and awful; and into it long sullen lines of cloud waved up like a sea stricken immovable as it was heaving. Towards London a lurid glare overhung the whole dark waste, and the contrast between these two lights, and the fancy which the redder light engendered of an unearthly fire, gleaming on all the unseen buildings of the city and on all the faces of its many thousands of wondering inhabitants, was as solemn as might be.
I had no thought that nightâ ânone, I am quite sureâ âof what was soon to happen to me. But I have always remembered since that when we had stopped at the garden-gate to look up at the sky, and when we went upon our way, I had for a moment an undefinable impression of myself as being something different from what I then was. I know it was then and there that I had it. I have ever since connected the feeling with that spot and time and with everything associated with that spot and time, to the distant voices in the town, the barking of a dog, and the sound of wheels coming down the miry hill.
It was Saturday night, and most of the people belonging to the place where we were going were drinking elsewhere. We found it quieter than I had previously seen it, though quite as miserable. The kilns were burning, and a stifling vapour set towards us with a pale-blue glare.
We came to the cottage, where there was a feeble candle in the patched window. We tapped at the door
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