ing, to bringing Doyce here. It's nothing to me to go and find him. I'm an old traveller, and all foreign languages and customs are alike to me -- I never understand anything about any of 'em. Therefore I can't be put to any inconvenience. Go at once I must, it stands to reason; because I can't live, without breathing freely; and I can't breathe freely, until Arthur is out of this Marshalsea. I am stifled at the present moment, and have scarcely breath enough to say this much, and to carry this precious box downstairs for you.'
They got into the street as the bell began to ring, Mr. Meagles carrying the box. Little Dorrit had no conveyance there: which rather surprised him. He called a coach for her, and she got into it, and he placed the box beside her when she was seated. In her joy and gratitude she kissed his hand.
'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr. Meagles. 'It goes against my feeling of what's right, that you should do homage to me -- at the Marshalsea Gate.'
She bent forward, and kissed his cheek.
'You remind me of the days,' said Mr. Meagles, suddenly drooping -- 'but she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no one sees them -- and he certainly is well connected, and of a very good family!'
It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he made the most of it, who could blame him?
ON a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson among the yellowing foliage. Already in the wood, glimpses of the hardy winter that was coming, were to be caught through unaccustomed openings among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the bloom lies on the plum. So, from the sea-shore the
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Publication information: Book title: Little Dorrit. Contributors: Charles Dickens - Author. Publisher: Books. Place of publication: New York. Publication year: 1868. Page number: 777.
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