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get on at all。 As soon as I begin to plan； and think； and try； all my
planning； thinking； and trying go in old directions； and I begin to feel
careful again about the expenses of the day； and about my dear father；
and about my work； and then I remember with a start that there are no
such cares left； and that in itself is so new and improbable that it
sets me wandering again。 I should not have the courage to mention this
to any one but you。
It is the same with all these new countries and wonderful sights。
They are very beautiful； and they astonish me； but I am not collected
enough……not familiar enough with myself； if you can quite understand
what I mean……to have all the pleasure in them that I might have。 What
I knew before them； blends with them； too； so curiously。 For instance；
when we were among the mountains； I often felt （I hesitate to tell such
an idle thing； dear Mr Clennam； even to you） as if the Marshalsea must
be behind that great rock； or as if Mrs Clennam's room where I have
worked so many days； and where I first saw you； must be just beyond that
snow。 Do you remember one night when I came with Maggy to your lodging
in Covent Garden？ That room I have often and often fancied I have seen
before me； travelling along for miles by the side of our carriage； when
I have looked out of the carriage…window after dark。 We were shut out
that night； and sat at the iron gate； and walked about till morning。
I often look up at the stars； even from the balcony of this room； and
believe that I am in the street again； shut out with Maggy。 It is the
same with people that I left in England。
When I go about here in a gondola； I surprise myself looking into other
gondolas as if I hoped to see them。 It would overe me with joy to
see them； but I don't think it would surprise me much； at first。 In my
fanciful times； I fancy that they might be anywhere； and I almost expect
to see their dear faces on the bridges or the quays。
Another difficulty that I have will seem very strange to you。 It must
seem very strange to any one but me； and does even to me： I often feel
the old sad pity for……I need not write the word……for him。 Changed as he
is； and inexpressibly blest and thankful as I always am to know it； the
old sorrowful feeling of passion es upon me sometimes with such
strength that I want to put my arms round his neck； tell him how I love
him； and cry a little on his breast。 I should be glad after that； and
proud and happy。 But I know that I must not do this； that he would not
like it； that Fanny would be angry； that Mrs General would be amazed；
and so I quiet myself。 Yet in doing so； I struggle with the feeling that
I have e to be at a distance from him； and that even in the midst of
all the servants and attendants； he is deserted； and in want of me。
Dear Mr Clennam； I have written a great deal about myself； but I must
write a little more still； or what I wanted most of all to say in this
weak letter would be left out of it。 In all these foolish thoughts of
mine； which I have been so hardy as to confess to you because I know you
will understand me if anybody can； and will make more allowance for me
than anybody else would if you cannot……in all these thoughts； there is
one thought scarcely ever……never……out of my memory； and that is that
I hope you sometimes； in a quiet moment； have a thought for me。 I must
tell you that as to this； I have felt； ever since I have been away； an
anxiety which I am very anxious to relieve。 I have been afraid that you
may think of me in a new light； or a new character。 Don't do that； I
could not bear that……it would make me more unhappy than you can suppose。
It would break my heart to believe that you thought of me in any way
that would make me stranger to you than I was when you were so good to
me。 What I have to pray and entreat of you is； that you will never think
of me as the daughter of a rich person； that you will never think of me
as dressing any better； or living any better； than when you first
knew me。 That you will remember me only as the little shabby girl you
protected with so much tenderness； from whose threadbare dress you have
kept away the rain； and whose wet feet you have dried at your fire。
That you will think of me （when you think of me at all）； and of my true
affection and devoted gratitude； always without change； as of your poor
child； LITTLE DORRIT。
P。S。……Particularly remember that you are not to be uneasy about Mrs
Gowan。 Her words were； 'Very well and very happy。' And she looked most
beautiful。
CHAPTER 5。 Something Wrong Somewhere
The family had been a month or two at Venice； when Mr Dorrit； who was
much among Counts and Marquises； and had but scant leisure； set an hour
of one day apart； beforehand； for the purpose of holding some conference
with Mrs General。
The time he had reserved in his mind arriving； he sent Mr Tinkler； his
valet； to Mrs General's apartment （which would have absorbed about a
third of the area of the Marshalsea）； to present his pliments to that
lady； and represent him as desiring the favour of an interview。 It being
that period of the forenoon when the various members of the family had
coffee in their own chambers； some couple of hours before assembling at
breakfast in a faded hall which had once been sumptuous； but was now
the prey of watery vapours and a settled melancholy； Mrs General was
accessible to the valet。 That envoy found her on a little square of
carpet； so extremely diminutive in reference to the size of her stone
and marble floor that she looked as if she might have had it spread for
the trying on of a ready…made pair of shoes； or as if she had e into
possession of the enchanted piece of carpet； bought for forty purses by
one of the three princes in the Arabian Nights； and had that moment been
transported on it； at a wish； into a palatial saloon with which it had
no connection。
Mrs General； replying to the envoy； as she set down her empty
coffee…cup； that she was willing at once to proceed to Mr Dorrit's
apartment； and spare him the trouble of ing to her （which； in his
gallantry； he had proposed）； the envoy threw open the door； a