Дэвид Копперфильд

Intelligence

           ‘Shewouldhavebeenproudofyou.Goodnight!’

           Itookthehandsheheldoutwithadignified,unbendingair,anditwasascalminmineasifherbreasthadbeenatpeace.Herpridecouldstillitsverypulses,itappeared,anddrawtheplacidveilbeforeherface,throughwhichshesatlookingstraightbeforeheronthefardistance.

           AsImovedawayfromthemalongtheterrace,Icouldnothelpobservinghowsteadilytheybothsatgazingontheprospect,andhowitthickenedandclosedaroundthem.Hereandthere,someearlylampswereseentotwinkleinthedistantcity;andintheeasternquarteroftheskytheluridlightstillhovered.But,fromthegreaterpartofthebroadvalleyinterposed,amistwasrisinglikeasea,which,minglingwiththedarkness,madeitseemasifthegatheringwaterswouldencompassthem.Ihavereasontorememberthis,andthinkofitwithawe;forbeforeIlookeduponthosetwoagain,astormyseahadrisentotheirfeet.

           Reflectingonwhathadbeenthustoldme,IfeltitrightthatitshouldbecommunicatedtoMr.Peggotty.OnthefollowingeveningIwentintoLondoninquestofhim.Hewasalwayswanderingaboutfromplacetoplace,withhisoneobjectofrecoveringhisniecebeforehim;butwasmoreinLondonthanelsewhere.Oftenandoften,now,hadIseenhiminthedeadofnightpassingalongthestreets,searching,amongthefewwholoiteredoutofdoorsatthoseuntimelyhours,forwhathedreadedtofind.

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