第21章
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the
littlepotofhotashes,atwhichshehadbeentryingtosoftenthe
paininherownstarvedfingersandtoes,orinthoseofherchild,
returnedtoitmenwithbarearms,mattedlocks,andcadaverous
faces,whohademergedintothewinterlightfromcellars,moved
away,todescendagainandagloomgatheredonthescenethat
appearedmorenaturaltoitthansunshine.
Thewinewasredwine,andhadstainedthegroundofthe
narrowstreetinthesuburbofSaintAntoine,inParis,whereit
wasspilled.Ithadstainedmanyhands,too,andmanyfaces,and
manynakedfeet,andmanywoodenshoes.Thehandsoftheman
whosawedthewood,leftredmarksonthebilletsandthe
foreheadofthewomanwhonursedherbaby,wasstainedwiththe
stainoftheoldragshewoundaboutherheadagain.Thosewho
CharlesDickensElecBookClassics
hadbeengreedywiththestavesofthecask,hadacquireda
tigerishsmearaboutthemouthandonetalljokersobesmirched,
hisheadmoreoutofalongsqualidbagofanight-capthaninit,