Отрывок из книги
In the old city of London, on an autumn day in the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did not want him. On the same day another English child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who wanted him. All England wanted him too. England had so wanted him, and hoped for him, that now the people were mad with joy. Everybody kissed each other and cried. Everybody took a holiday, and rich and poor ate and danced and sang for days and nights. There was no talk in all England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales[1]. But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, except among the family of paupers whom he had only brought more trouble.
London was an old and great town. It had a hundred thousand inhabitants—some think double as many. The streets were very narrow and dirty, especially in the part where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London Bridge. The houses were of wood, with the second storey projecting over the first, and the third projecting over the second. The higher the houses grew, the broader they were. The windows were small, and they opened outward, like doors.
.....
“And who helps them undress at night? Who dresses them when they get up?”
“Nobody, sir. Why should they take off their dress[3], and sleep like the animals?”
.....
