Little Dorrit, Book One: Poverty - Penn State University

Charles Dickens‘However long she lived,’ echoed Maggy.the common hole it really was, when he looked back to it by‘And because she was very weak; indeed was so weak that these lights. Never, never!when she began to laugh she couldn’t stop herself—which was They were very near the end of their walk, and they nowa great pity—’came out of the gateway to finish it. Nothing would serve Maggy(Maggy mighty grave of a sudden.)but that they must stop at a grocer’s window, short of their‘Her grandmother did not know what to do with her, and destination, for her to show her learning. She could read afterfor some years was very unkind to her indeed. At length, in a sort; and picked out the fat figures in the tickets of prices, forcourse of time, Maggy began to take pains to improve herself, the most part correctly. She also stumbled, with a large balanceof success against her failures, through various philan-and to be very attentive and very industrious; and by degreeswas allowed to come in and out as often as she liked, and got thropic recommendations to Try our Mixture, Try our Familyenough to do to support herself, and does support herself. Black, Try our Orange-flavoured Pekoe, challenging competitionat the head of Flowery Teas; and various cautions to theAnd that,’ said Little Dorrit, clapping the two great hands togetheragain, ‘is Maggy’s history, as Maggy knows!’ public against spurious establishments and adulterated articles.Ah! But Arthur would have known what was wanting to its When he saw how pleasure brought a rosy tint into Littlecompleteness, though he had never heard of the words Little Dorrit’s face when Maggy made a hit, he felt that he couldmother; though he had never seen the fondling of the small have stood there making a library of the grocer’s window untilspare hand; though he had had no sight for the tears now standingin the colourless eyes; though he had had no hearing for the The court-yard received them at last, and there he saidthe rain and wind were tired.sob that checked the clumsy laugh. The dirty gateway with the goodbye to Little Dorrit. Little as she had always looked, shewind and rain whistling through it, and the basket of muddy looked less than ever when he saw her going into thepotatoes waiting to be spilt again or taken up, never seemed Marshalsea lodge passage, the little mother attended by her104