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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 1/459
The Antiquities Shop
Although
I
am
an
old
man
,
night
is
generally
my
time
for
walking
.
In
the
summer
I
often
leave
home
early
in
the
morning
,
and
roam
about
fields
and
lanes
all
day
,
or
even
escape
for
days
or
weeks
together
;
but
,
saving
in
the
country
,
I
seldom
go
out
until
after
dark
,
though
,
Heaven
be
thanked
,
I
love
its
light
and
feel
the
cheerfulness
it
sheds
upon
the
earth
,
as
much
as
any
creature
living
.
I
have
fallen
insensibly
into
this
habit
,
both
because
it
favours
my
infirmity
and
because
it
affords
me
greater
opportunity
of
speculating
on
the
characters
and
occupations
of
those
who
fill
the
streets
.
The
glare
and
hurry
of
broad
noon
are
not
adapted
to
idle
pursuits
like
mine
;
a
glimpse
of
passing
faces
caught
by
the
light
of
a
street
-
lamp
or
a
shop
window
is
often
better
for
my
purpose
than
their
full
revelation
in
the
daylight
;
and
,
if
I
must
add
the
truth
,
night
is
kinder
in
this
respect
than
day
,
which
too
often
destroys
an
air
-
built
castle
at
the
moment
of
its
completion
,
without
the
least
ceremony
or
remorse
.
That
constant
pacing
to
and
fro
,
that
never
-
ending
restlessness
,
that
incessant
tread
of
feet
wearing
the
rough
stones
smooth
and
glossy
—
is
it
not
a
wonder
how
the
dwellers
in
narrows
ways
can
bear
to
hear
it
!
Think
of
a
sick
man
in
such
a
place
as
Saint
Martin
’
s
Court
,
listening
to
the
footsteps
,
and
in
the
midst
of
pain
and
weariness
obliged
,
despite
himself
(
as
though
it
were
a
task
he
must
perform
)
to
detect
the
child
’
s
step
from
the
man
’
s
,
the
slipshod
beggar
from
the
booted
exquisite
,
the
lounging
from
the
busy
,
the
dull
heel
of
the
sauntering
outcast
from
the
quick
tread
of
an
expectant
pleasure
-
seeker
—
think
of
the
hum
and
noise
always
being
present
to
his
sense
,
and
of
the
stream
of
life
that
will
not
stop
,
pouring
on
,
on
,
on
,
through
all
his
restless
dreams
,
as
if
he
were
condemned
to
lie
,
dead
but
conscious
,
in
a
noisy
churchyard
,
and
had
no
hope
of
rest
for
centuries
to
come
.
Then
,
the
crowds
forever
passing
and
repassing
on
the
bridges
(
on
those
which
are
free
of
toll
at
least
)
,
where
many
stop
on
fine
evenings
looking
listlessly
down
upon
the
water
with
some
vague
idea
that
by
and
by
it
runs
between
green
banks
which
grow
wider
and
wider
until
at
last
it
joins
the
broad
vast
sea
—
where
some
halt
to
rest
from
heavy
loads
and
think
as
they
look
over
the
parapet
that
to
smoke
and
lounge
away
one
’
s
life
,
and
lie
sleeping
in
the
sun
upon
a
hot
tarpaulin
,
in
a
dull
,
slow
,
sluggish
barge
,
must
be
happiness
unalloyed
—
and
where
some
,
and
a
very
different
class
,
pause
with
heavier
loads
than
they
,
remembering
to
have
heard
or
read
in
old
time
that
drowning
was
not
a
hard
death
,
but
of
all
means
of
suicide
the
easiest
and
best
.
Covent
Garden
Market
at
sunrise
too
,
in
the
spring
or
summer
,
when
the
fragrance
of
sweet
flowers
is
in
the
air
,
over
-
powering
even
the
unwholesome
streams
of
last
night
’
s
debauchery
,
and
driving
the
dusky
thrush
,
whose
cage
has
hung
outside
a
garret
window
all
night
long
,
half
mad
with
joy
!
Poor
bird
!
the
only
neighbouring
thing
at
all
akin
to
the
other
little
captives
,
some
of
whom
,
shrinking
from
the
hot
hands
of
drunken
purchasers
,
lie
drooping
on
the
path
already
,
while
others
,
soddened
by
close
contact
,
await
the
time
when
they
shall
be
watered
and
freshened
up
to
please
more
sober
company
,
and
make
old
clerks
who
pass
them
on
their
road
to
business
,
wonder
what
has
filled
their
breasts
with
visions
of
the
country
.
But
my
present
purpose
is
not
to
expatiate
upon
my
walks
.
The
story
I
am
about
to
relate
,
and
to
which
I
shall
recur
at
intervals
,
arose
out
of
one
of
these
rambles
;
and
thus
I
have
been
led
to
speak
of
them
by
way
of
preface
.
One
night
I
had
roamed
into
the
City
,
and
was
walking
slowly
on
in
my
usual
way
,
musing
upon
a
great
many
things
,
when
I
was
arrested
by
an
inquiry
,
the
purport
of
which
did
not
reach
me
,
but
which
seemed
to
be
addressed
to
myself
,
and
was
preferred
in
a
soft
sweet
voice
that
struck
me
very
pleasantly
.
I
turned
hastily
round
and
found
at
my
elbow
a
pretty
little
girl
,
who
begged
to
be
directed
to
a
certain
street
at
a
considerable
distance
,
and
indeed
in
quite
another
quarter
of
the
town
.
‘
It
is
a
very
long
way
from
here
,
’
said
I
,
‘
my
child
.
’
‘
I
know
that
,
sir
,
’
she
replied
timidly
.
‘
I
am
afraid
it
is
a
very
long
way
,
for
I
came
from
there
to
-
night
.
’
