Дэвид Копперфильд

Another Retrospect

           

           Nevertheless,Iaminadream,aflustered,happy,hurrieddream.Ican’tbelievethatitisgoingtobe;andyetIcan’tbelievebutthateveryoneIpassinthestreet,musthavesomekindofperception,thatIamtobemarriedthedayaftertomorrow.TheSurrogateknowsme,whenIgodowntobesworn;anddisposesofmeeasily,asiftherewereaMasonicunderstandingbetweenus.Traddlesisnotatallwanted,butisinattendanceasmygeneralbacker.

           ‘Ihopethenexttimeyoucomehere,mydearfellow,’IsaytoTraddles,‘itwillbeonthesameerrandforyourself.AndIhopeitwillbesoon.’

           ‘Thankyouforyourgoodwishes,mydearCopperfield,’hereplies.‘Ihopesotoo.It’sasatisfactiontoknowthatshe’llwaitformeanylengthoftime,andthatshereallyisthedearestgirl

           ‘Whenareyoutomeetheratthecoach?’Iask.

           ‘Atseven,’saysTraddles,lookingathisplainoldsilverwatchtheverywatchheoncetookawheeloutof,atschool,tomakeawater-mill.‘ThatisaboutMissWickfield’stime,isitnot?’

           ‘Alittleearlier.Hertimeishalfpasteight.’‘Iassureyou,mydearboy,’saysTraddles,‘IamalmostaspleasedasifIweregoingtobemarriedmyself,tothinkthatthiseventiscomingtosuchahappytermination.

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