Дэвид Копперфильд

Intelligence

           

           Hekeptalodgingoverthelittlechandler’sshopinHungerfordMarket,whichIhavehadoccasiontomentionmorethanonce,andfromwhichhefirstwentforthuponhiserrandofmercy.HitherIdirectedmywalk.Onmakinginquiryforhim,Ilearnedfromthepeopleofthehousethathehadnotgoneoutyet,andIshouldfindhiminhisroomupstairs.

           Hewassittingreadingbyawindowinwhichhekeptafewplants.Theroomwasveryneatandorderly.Isawinamomentthatitwasalwayskeptpreparedforherreception,andthatheneverwentoutbuthethoughtitpossiblehemightbringherhome.Hehadnotheardmytapatthedoor,andonlyraisedhiseyeswhenIlaidmyhanduponhisshoulder.

           ‘Mas’rDavy!Thankee,sir!thankeehearty,forthisvisit!Sityedown.You’rekindlywelcome,sir!’

           ‘Mr.Peggotty,’saidI,takingthechairhehandedme,‘don’texpectmuch!Ihaveheardsomenews.’

           ‘OfEm’ly!’

           Heputhishand,inanervousmanner,onhismouth,andturnedpale,ashefixedhiseyesonmine.

           ‘Itgivesnocluetowheresheis;butsheisnotwithhim.’

           Hesatdown,lookingintentlyatme,andlistenedinprofoundsilencetoallIhadtotell.Iwellrememberthesenseofdignity,beautyeven,withwhichthepatientgravityofhisfaceimpressedme,when,havinggraduallyremovedhiseyesfrommine,hesatlookingdownward,leaninghisforeheadonhishand.

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Roboto Lora
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