Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

Closing in

The last day of the appointed week touched the bars of the
Marshalsea gate. Black, all night, since the gate had clashed upon
Little Dorrit, its iron stripes were turned by the early-glowing
sun into stripes of gold. Far aslant across the city, over its
jumbled roofs, and through the open tracery of its church towers,
struck the long bright rays, bars of the prison of this lower
world.

Throughout the day the old house within the gateway remained
untroubled by any visitors. But, when the sun was low, three men
turned in at the gateway and made for the dilapidated house.

Rigaud was the first, and walked by himself smoking. Mr Baptist
was the second, and jogged close after him, looking at no other
object. Mr Pancks was the third, and carried his hat under his arm
for the liberation of his restive hair; the weather being extremely
hot. They all came together at the door-steps.

'You pair of madmen!' said Rigaud, facing about. 'Don't go yet!'

'We don't mean to,' said Mr Pancks.
Giving him a dark glance in acknowledgment of his answer, Rigaud
knocked loudly. He had charged himself with drink, for the playing
out of his game, and was impatient to begin. He had hardly
finished one long resounding knock, when he turned to the knocker
again and began another. That was not yet finished when Jeremiah
Flintwinch opened the door, and they all clanked into the stone
hall. Rigaud, thrusting Mr Flintwinch aside, proceeded straight
up-stairs. His two attendants followed him, Mr Flintwinch followed
them, and they all came trooping into Mrs Clennam's quiet room. It
was in its usual state; except that one of the windows was wide
open, and Affery sat on its old-fashioned window-seat, mending a
stocking. The usual articles were on the little table; the usual
deadened fire was in the grate; the bed had its usual pall upon it;
and the mistress of all sat on her black bier-like sofa, propped up
by her black angular bolster that was like the headsman's block.

Yet there was a nameless air of preparation in the room, as if it
were strung up for an occasion. From what the room derived it--
every one of its small variety of objects being in the fixed spot
it had occupied for years--no one could have said without looking
attentively at its mistress, and that, too, with a previous
knowledge of her face. Although her unchanging black dress was in
every plait precisely as of old, and her unchanging attitude was
rigidly preserved, a very slight additional setting of her features
and contraction of her gloomy forehead was so powerfully marked,
that it marked everything about her.

'Who are these?' she said, wonderingly, as the two attendants
entered. 'What