Little Dorrit Vol.1 f.028 recto

“In our [?????] going one and [???] shall meet course through life we shall meet the peoplewho are coming to meet us, from many strange places and by many strange roads” was the composed reply; “she was composed [?? ??????] and [???] what [?????? ? ??? ??? ???] it is set to us to do to them, and what [??????????] what it is set to them to do to us, will be done all be done.” [?? ???? ??? ??? ????? ????."]

There was something in the manner of these words that jarred upon Pet’s ear. It implied that what was to be done was necessarily evil, and it caused her to say in a whisper, “O Father!” and to shrink childishly, in her spoilt way, a little closer to him. This was not lost on the speaker.

“Your pretty daughter,” she said, “starts to think of such things. Yet,” looking full upon her, “you may be sure that there are men and women already on their road, who have their business to do with you, and who will do it. Of a certainty they will do it. They may be coming hundreds, thousands, of miles over the sea there; they may be close at hand now; they may be coming, for anything you know or anything you can do to prevent it, from the vilest sweepings of this very town.”

With the coldest of farewells, and with a certain worn expression on her beauty that gave it, though scarcely yet in its prime, a wasted look, she left the room.

Now, there were many stairs and passages that she had to traverse in passing from that part of the spacious house to the chamber she had secured for her own occupation. When she had almost completed the journey, and was passing along the gallery in which her room was, she heard an angry sound of muttering and sobbing. A door stood open, and within she saw the attendant upon the girl she had just left; the maid with the curious name.

She stood still, to look at this maid. A sullen, passionate girl! Her rich black hair was all about her face, her face was flushed and hot, and as she sobbed and raged, she plucked at her lips with an unsparing hand.

“Selfish brutes!” said the girl, sobbing and heaving between whiles. “Not caring what becomes of me! Leaving me here hungry and thirsty and tired, to starve, for anything they care! Beasts! Devils! Wretches!”

“My poor girl, what is the matter?”

She looked up suddenly, with reddened eyes, and with her hands suspended, in the act of pinching her neck, freshly disfigured with great scarlet blots. “It’s nothing to you what’s the matter. It don’t signify to any one.”

“O yes it does; I am sorry to see you so.”

“You are not sorry,” said the girl. “You are glad. You know you are glad. I never was like this but twice over in the quarantine yonder; and both times you found me. I am afraid of you.”

“Afraid of me?”

“Yes. You seem to come like my own anger, my own malice, my own—whatever it is—I don’t know what it is. But I am ill-used, I am ill-used, I am ill-used!” Here the sobs and the tears, and the tearing hand, which had all been suspended together since the first surprise, went on together anew.