Дэвид Копперфильд

Martha

           

           ‘IcouldnotdowhatIhavepromised,formoney,’shereplied.‘Icouldnottakeit,ifIwasstarving.Togivememoneywouldbetotakeawayyourtrust,totakeawaytheobjectthatyouhavegivenme,totakeawaytheonlycertainthingthatsavesmefromtheriver.’

           ‘Inthenameofthegreatjudge,’saidI,‘beforewhomyouandallofusmuststandatHisdreadtime,dismissthatterribleidea!Wecanalldosomegood,ifwewill.’

           Shetrembled,andherlipshook,andherfacewaspaler,assheanswered:

           ‘Ithasbeenputintoyourhearts,perhaps,tosaveawretchedcreatureforrepentance.Iamafraidtothinkso;itseemstoobold.Ifanygoodshouldcomeofme,Imightbegintohope;fornothingbutharmhasevercomeofmydeedsyet.Iamtobetrusted,forthefirsttimeinalongwhile,withmymiserablelife,onaccountofwhatyouhavegivenmetotryfor.Iknownomore,andIcansaynomore.’

           Againsherepressedthetearsthathadbeguntoflow;and,puttingouthertremblinghand,andtouchingMr.Peggotty,asiftherewassomehealingvirtueinhim,wentawayalongthedesolateroad.Shehadbeenill,probablyforalongtime.Iobserved,uponthatcloseropportunityofobservation,thatshewaswornandhaggard,andthathersunkeneyesexpressedprivationandendurance.

           Wefollowedheratashortdistance,ourwaylyinginthesamedirection,untilwecamebackintothelightedandpopulousstreets.

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