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Pagina 250 de 896

Autor: Charles Dickens

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With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of
consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the
carriage dashed through streets and swept round corners, with
women screaming before it, and men clutching each other and
clutching children out of its way. At last, swooping at a street
corner by a fountain, one of its wheels came to a sickening
little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of voices,
and the horses reared and plunged.
But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not
have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave
their wounded behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had
got down in a hurry, and there were twenty hands at the horses'
bridles.
"What has gone wrong?" said Monsieur, calmly looking out.
A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the
feet of the horses, and had laid it on the basement of the
fountain, and was down in the mud and wet, howling over it like a
wild animal.

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