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distances; all softly lighted through stained glass; and the massive
curtains that hung in the doorways。 From these cities they would go on
again; by the roads of vines and olives; through squalid villages; where
there was not a hovel without a gap in its filthy walls; not a window
with a whole inch of glass or paper; where there seemed to be nothing to
support life; nothing to eat; nothing to make; nothing to grow; nothing
to hope; nothing to do but die。

Again they would e to whole towns of palaces; whose proper inmates
were all banished; and which were all changed into barracks: troops
of idle soldiers leaning out of the state windows; where their
accoutrements hung drying on the marble architecture; and showing to the
mind like hosts of rats who were (happily) eating away the props of the
edifices that supported them; and must soon; with them; be smashed on
the heads of the other swarms of soldiers and the swarms of priests; and
the swarms of spies; who were all the ill…looking population left to be
ruined; in the streets below。

Through such scenes; the family procession moved on to Venice。 And here
it dispersed for a time; as they were to live in Venice some few months
in a palace (itself six times as big as the whole Marshalsea) on the
Grand Canal。

In this crowning unreality; where all the streets were paved with water;
and where the deathlike stillness of the days and nights was broken by
no sound but the softened ringing of church…bells; the rippling of
the current; and the cry of the gondoliers turning the corners of the
flowing streets; Little Dorrit; quite lost by her task being done; sat
down to muse。 The family began a gay life; went here and there; and
turned night into day; but she was timid of joining in their gaieties;
and only asked leave to be left alone。

Sometimes she would step into one of the gondolas that were always kept
in waiting; moored to painted posts at the door……when she could escape
from the attendance of that oppressive maid; who was her mistress; and
a very hard one……and would be taken all over the strange city。 Social
people in other gondolas began to ask each other who the little solitary
girl was whom they passed; sitting in her boat with folded hands;
looking so pensively and wonderingly about her。 Never thinking that
it would be worth anybody's while to notice her or her doings; Little
Dorrit; in her quiet; scared; lost manner; went about the city none the
less。

But her favourite station was the balcony of her own room; overhanging
the canal; with other balconies below; and none above。 It was of massive
stone darkened by ages; built in a wild fancy which came from the East
to that collection of wild fancies; and Little Dorrit was little indeed;
leaning on the broad…cushioned ledge; and looking over。 As she liked no
place of an evening half so well; she soon began to be watched for; and
many eyes in passing gondolas were raised; and many people said; There
was the little figure of the English girl who was always alone。

Such people were not realities to the little figure of the English girl;
such people were all unknown to her。 She would watch the sunset; in its
long low lines of purple and red; and its burning flush high up into
the sky: so glowing on the buildings; and so lightening their structure;
that it made them look as if their strong walls were transparent; and
they shone from within。 She would watch those glories expire; and then;
after looking at the black gondolas underneath; taking guests to music
and dancing; would raise her eyes to the shining stars。 Was there no
party of her own; in other times; on which the stars had shone? To think
of that old gate now! She would think of that old gate; and of herself
sitting at it in the dead of the night; pillowing Maggy's head; and of
other places and of other scenes associated with those different times。
And then she would lean upon her balcony; and look over at the water;
as though they all lay underneath it。 When she got to that; she would
musingly watch its running; as if; in the general vision; it might run
dry; and show her the prison again; and herself; and the old room; and
the old inmates; and the old visitors: all lasting realities that had
never changed。




CHAPTER 4。 A Letter from Little Dorrit


Dear Mr Clennam;

I write to you from my own room at Venice; thinking you will be glad to
hear from me。 But I know you cannot be so glad to hear from me as I am
to write to you; for everything about you is as you have been accustomed
to see it; and you miss nothing……unless it should be me; which can only
be for a very little while together and very seldom……while everything in
my life is so strange; and I miss so much。

When we were in Switzerland; which appears to have been years ago;
though it was only weeks; I met young Mrs Gowan; who was on a mountain
excursion like ourselves。 She told me she was very well and very happy。
She sent you the message; by me; that she thanked you affectionately and
would never forget you。 She e; and I loved her
almost as soon as I spoke to her。 But there is nothing singular in that;
who could help loving so beautiful and winning a creature! I could not
wonder at any one loving her。 No indeed。

It will not make you uneasy on Mrs Gowan's account; I hope……for I
remember that you said you had the interest of a true friend in her……if
I tell you that I wish she could have married some one better suited to
her。 Mr Gowan seems fond of her; and of course she is very fond of him;
but I thought he was not earnest enough……I don't mean in that respect……I
mean in anything。 I could not keep it out of my mind that if I was Mrs
Gowan (what a change that would be; and how I must alter to bee like
her!) I should feel that I was rather lonely and lost; for the want of
some one who was steadfast and firm in purpose。 I even thought she felt
this want a little; almost without knowing it。 But mind you are not made
uneasy by this; for she was 'very well and very happy。' And she looked
most beautiful。

I expect to meet her again before long; and indeed have been expecting
for some days past to see her here。 I will ever be as good a friend to
her as I can for your sake。 Dear Mr Clennam; I dare say you think little
of having been a friend to me when I had no other (not that I have any
other now; for I have made no new friends); but I think much of it; and
I never can forget it。

I wish I knew……but it is best for no one to write to me……how Mr and Mrs
Plornish prosper in the business which my dear father bought for them;
and that old Mr Nandy lives happily with them and his two grandchildren;
and sings all his songs over and over again。 I cannot quite keep back
the tears from my eyes when I think of my poor Maggy; and of the blank
she must have felt at first; however kind they all are to her; without
her Little Mother。 Will you go and tell her; as a strict secret; with my
love; that she never can have regretted our separation more than I have
regretted it? And will you tell them all that I have thought of them
every day; and that my heart is faithful to them everywhere? O; if you
could know how faithful; you would almost pity me for being so far away
and being so grand!

You will be glad; I am sure; to know that my dear father is very well
in health; and that all these changes are highly beneficial to him; and
that he is very different indeed from what he used to be when you used
to see him。 There is an improvement in my uncle too; I think; though he
never plained of old; and never exults now。 Fanny is very graceful;
quick; and clever。 It is natural to her to be a lady; she has adapted
herself to our new fortunes with wonderful ease。

This reminds me that I have not been able to do so; and that I sometimes
almost despair of ever being able to do so。 I find that I cannot learn。
Mrs General is always with us; and we speak French and speak Italian;
and she takes pains to form us in many ways。 When I say we speak French
and Italian; I mean they do。 As for me; I am so slow that I scarcely
get on at all。 As soon as I begin to plan; and think; and try; all my
planning; thinking; and trying go in old 

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