Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Dick fulfils my aunt’s Predictions

           

           ‘Thereisgreatneed,’sheanswered,inthesameway,‘thatIshouldopenmywholeheartbeforethesoulofgenerosityandtruth,whom,yearbyyear,anddaybyday,Ihavelovedandveneratedmoreandmore,asHeavenknows!’

           ‘Really,’interruptedMrs.Markleham,‘ifIhaveanydiscretionatall

           (‘Whichyouhaven’t,youMarplot,’observedmyaunt,inanindignantwhisper.)

           -‘Imustbepermittedtoobservethatitcannotberequisitetoenterintothesedetails.’

           ‘Noonebutmyhusbandcanjudgeofthat,mama,’saidAnniewithoutremovinghereyesfromhisface,‘andhewillhearme.IfIsayanythingtogiveyoupain,mama,forgiveme.Ihavebornepainfirst,oftenandlong,myself.’

           ‘Uponmyword!’gaspedMrs.Markleham.

           ‘WhenIwasveryyoung,’saidAnnie,‘quitealittlechild,myfirstassociationswithknowledgeofanykindwereinseparablefromapatientfriendandteacherthefriendofmydeadfatherwhowasalwaysdeartome.IcanremembernothingthatIknow,withoutrememberinghim.Hestoredmymindwithitsfirsttreasures,andstampedhischaracteruponthemall.Theynevercouldhavebeen,Ithink,asgoodastheyhavebeentome,ifIhadtakenthemfromanyotherhands.’

           ‘Makeshermothernothing!’exclaimedMrs.Markleham.

           ‘Notsomama,’saidAnnie;‘butImakehimwhathewas.Imustdothat.

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