and putting down； the sprinkling from a watering…pot and hydraulic
pressure； Mrs Clennam showed an interest in this dependent。 Even in the
moment of her entrance； upon the violent ringing of the bell； when the
mother shielded herself with that singular action from the son； Mrs
Clennam's eyes had had some individual recognition in them； which seemed
reserved for her。 As there are degrees of hardness in the hardest metal；
and shades of colour in black itself； so； even in the asperity of Mrs
Clennam's demeanour towards all the rest of humanity and towards Little
Dorrit； there was a fine gradation。
Little Dorrit let herself out to do needlework。 At so much a day……or at
so little……from eight to eight； Little Dorrit was to be hired。 Punctual
to the moment； Little Dorrit appeared； punctual to the moment； Little
Dorrit vanished。 What became of Little Dorrit between the two eights was
a mystery。
Another of the moral phenomena of Little Dorrit。 Besides her
consideration money； her daily contract included meals。 She had an
extraordinary repugnance to dining in pany； would never do so； if
it were possible to escape。 Would always plead that she had this bit of
work to begin first； or that bit of work to finish first； and would； of
a certainty； scheme and plan……not very cunningly； it would seem； for she
deceived no one……to dine alone。 Successful in this； happy in carrying
off her plate anywhere； to make a table of her lap； or a box； or the
ground； or even as was supposed； to stand on tip…toe； dining moderately
at a mantel…shelf； the great anxiety of Little Dorrit's day was set at
rest。
It was not easy to make out Little Dorrit's face； she was so retiring；
plied her needle in such removed corners； and started away so scared if
encountered on the stairs。 But it seemed to be a pale transparent face；
quick in expression； though not beautiful in feature； its soft hazel
eyes excepted。 A delicately bent head； a tiny form； a quick little pair
of busy hands； and a shabby dress……it must needs have been very shabby
to look at all so； being so neat……were Little Dorrit as she sat at work。
For these particulars or generalities concerning Little Dorrit； Mr
Arthur was indebted in the course of the day to his own eyes and to Mrs
Affery's tongue。 If Mrs Affery had had any will or way of her own； it
would probably have been unfavourable to Little Dorrit。 But as 'them two
clever ones'……Mrs Affery's perpetual reference； in whom her personality
was swallowed up……were agreed to accept Little Dorrit as a matter of
course； she had nothing for it but to follow suit。 Similarly； if the
two clever ones had agreed to murder Little Dorrit by candlelight； Mrs
Affery； being required to hold the candle； would no doubt have done it。
In the intervals of roasting the partridge for the invalid chamber； and
preparing a baking…dish of beef and pudding for the dining…room； Mrs
Affery made the munications above set forth； invariably putting
her head in at the door again after she had taken it out； to enforce
resistance to the two clever ones。 It appeared to have bee a perfect
passion with Mrs Flintwinch； that the only son should be pitted against
them。
In the course of the day； too； Arthur looked through the whole house。
Dull and dark he found it。 The gaunt rooms； deserted for years upon
years； seemed to have settled down into a gloomy lethargy from which
nothing could rouse them again。 The furniture； at once spare and
lumbering； hid in the rooms rather than furnished them； and there was
no colour in all the house； such colour as had ever been there； had long
ago started away on lost sunbeams……got itself absorbed； perhaps； into
flowers； butterflies； plumage of birds； precious stones； what not。 There
was not one straight floor from the foundation to the roof； the ceilings
were so fantastically clouded by smoke and dust； that old women might
have told fortunes in them better than in grouts of tea； the dead…cold
hearths showed no traces of having ever been warmed but in heaps of soot
that had tumbled down the chimneys； and eddied about in little
dusky whirlwinds when the doors were opened。 In what had once been
a drawing…room； there were a pair of meagre mirrors； with dismal
processions of black figures carrying black garlands； walking round
the frames； but even these were short of heads and legs； and one
undertaker…like Cupid had swung round on its own axis and got upside
down； and another had fallen off altogether。 The room Arthur Clennam's
deceased father had occupied for business purposes； when he first
remembered him； was so unaltered that he might have been imagined still
to keep it invisibly； as his visible relict kept her room up…stairs；
Jeremiah Flintwinch still going between them negotiating。 His picture；
dark and gloomy； earnestly speechless on the wall； with the eyes
intently looking at his son as they had looked when life departed from
them； seemed to urge him awfully to the task he had attempted； but as
to any yielding on the part of his mother； he had now no hope； and as to
any other means of setting his distrust at rest； he had abandoned hope a
long time。
Down in the cellars； as up in the bed…chambers； old objects that he well
remembered were changed by age and decay； but were still in their
old places； even to empty beer…casks hoary with cobwebs； and empty
wine…bottles with fur and fungus choking up their throats。 There； too；
among unusual bottle…racks and pale slants of light from the yard above；
was the strong room stored with old ledgers； which had as musty and
corrupt a smell as if they were regularly balanced； in the dead small
hours； by a nightly resurrection of old book…keepers。
The baking…dish was served up in a penitential manner on a shrunken
cloth at an end of the dining…table； at two o'clock； when he dined with
Mr Flintwinch； the new partner。 Mr Flintwinch informed him that his
mother had recovered her equanimity now； and that he need not fear her
again alluding to what had passed in the morning。 'And don't you lay
offences at your father's door； Mr Arthur；' added Jeremiah； 'once for
all； don't do it！ Now； we have done with the subject。'
Mr Flintwinch had been already rearranging and dusting his own
particular little office； as if to do honour to his accession to new
dignity。 He resumed this occupation when he was replete with beef； had
sucked up all the gravy in the baking…dish with the flat of his knife；
and had drawn liberally on a barrel of small beer in the scullery。 Thus
refreshed； he tucked up his shirt…sleeves and went to work again； and Mr
Arthur； watching him as he set about it； plainly saw that his father's
picture； or his father's grave； would be as municative with him as
this old man。
'Now； Affery； woman；' said Mr Flintwinch； as she crossed the hall。 'You
hadn't made Mr Arthur's bed when I was up there last。 Stir yourself。
Bustle。'
But Mr Arthur found the house so blank and dreary； and was so unwilling
to assist at another implacable consignment of his mother's enemies
（perhaps himself among them） to mortal disfigurement and immortal ruin；
that he announced his intention of lodging at the coffee…house where he
had left his luggage。 Mr Flintwinch taking kindly to the idea of getting
rid of him； and his mother being indifferent； beyond considerations of
saving； to most domestic arrangements that were not bounded by the walls
of her own chamber； he easily carried this point without new offence。
Daily business hours were agreed upon； which his mother； Mr Flintwinch；
and he； were to devote together to a necessary checking of books and
papers； and he left the home he had so lately found； with depressed
heart。
But Little Dorrit？
The business hours； allowing for intervals of invalid regimen of oysters
and partridges； during which Clennam refreshed himself with a walk；
were from ten to six for about a fortnight。 Sometimes Little Dorrit was
employed at her needle； sometimes not； sometimes appeared as a humble
visitor： which must have been her character on the occasion of his
arrival。 His original curiosity augmented every day； as he watched for
her； saw or did not see her； and speculated about her。 Influenced by his
predominant idea； he even fell into a habit of discussing with himself
the possibility of her being in some way associated with it。 At last he
resolved to watch Little Dorrit and know more of her story。
CHAPTER 6。 The Father of the Marshalsea
Thirty years ago there stood； a few doors short of the church of Saint
George； in the borough of Southwark； on the left…hand side of the way
going southward； the Marshalsea Prison。 It had stood there many years
before； and it remained there some years afterwards； but it is gone now；
and the world is none the worse without it。
It was an oblong pile of barrack building； partitioned into squalid
houses standing back to back； so that there were no back rooms；
environed by a narrow paved yard； hemmed in by high walls duly spiked at
top。 Itself a close and confined prison for debtors； it contained within
it a much closer and more confined jail for smugglers。 Offenders against
the revenue laws； and defaulters to excise or customs who had incurred
fines which they were unable to pay； were supposed to be incarcerated
behind an iron…plated door closing up a second prison； consisting of a
strong cell or two； and a blind alley some yard and a half wide； which
formed the mysterious termination of the very limited skittle…ground in
which the Marshalsea debtors bowled down their troubles。
Supposed to be incarcerated there； because the time had rather outgrown
the strong cells and the blind alley。 In practice they had e to be
considered a little too bad； though in theory they were quite as good as
ever； which may be observed to be the case at the present day with other
cells that are not at all strong； and with other blind alleys that are
stone…blind。 Hence the smugglers habitually consorted with the debtors
（who received them with open arms）； except at certain constitutional
moments when somebody came from some Office； to go through some form of
overlooking something which neither he nor anybody else knew anything
about。 On these truly British occasions； the smugglers； if any； made a
feint of walking into the strong cells and the blind alley； while this
somebody pretended to do his something： and made a reality of walking
out again as soon as he hadn't done it……neatly epitomising the
administration of most of the public affairs in our right little； tight
little； island。
There had been taken to the Marshalsea Prison； long before the day when
the sun shone on Marseilles and on the opening of this narrative； a
debtor with whom this narrative has some concern。
He was； at that time； a very amiable and very helpless middle…aged
gentleman； who was going out again directly。 Necessarily； he was going
out again directly； because the Marshalsea lock never turned upon a
debtor who was not。 He brought in a portmanteau with him； which he
doubted its being worth while to unpack； he was so perfectly clear……like
all the rest of them； the turnkey on the lock said……that he was going
out again directly。
He was a shy； retiring man； well…looking；