Дэвид Копперфильд

Martha

           Havinggotit,whydoyougivemethepainoflookingatyouforanothermoment,andseeingwhatyouhavebecome?’

           ‘Ihavebecomeshabbyenough,ifyoumeanthat,’hesaid.‘Ileadthelifeofanowl.’

           ‘YoustrippedmeofthegreaterpartofallIeverhad,’saidmyaunt.‘Youclosedmyheartagainstthewholeworld,yearsandyears.Youtreatedmefalsely,ungratefully,andcruelly.Go,andrepentofit.Don’taddnewinjuriestothelong,longlistofinjuriesyouhavedoneme!’

           ‘Aye!’hereturned.‘It’sallveryfineWell!ImustdothebestIcan,forthepresent,Isuppose.’

           Inspiteofhimself,heappearedabashedbymyaunt’sindignanttears,andcameslouchingoutofthegarden.Takingtwoorthreequicksteps,asifIhadjustcomeup,Imethimatthegate,andwentinashecameout.Weeyedoneanothernarrowlyinpassing,andwithnofavour.

           ‘Aunt,’saidI,hurriedly.‘Thismanalarmingyouagain!Letmespeaktohim.Whoishe?’

           ‘Child,’returnedmyaunt,takingmyarm,‘comein,anddon’tspeaktomefortenminutes.’

           Wesatdowninherlittleparlour.Myauntretiredbehindtheroundgreenfanofformerdays,whichwasscrewedonthebackofachair,andoccasionallywipedhereyes,foraboutaquarterofanhour.Thenshecameout,andtookaseatbesideme.

           ‘Trot,’saidmyaunt,calmly,‘it’smyhusband.

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Roboto Lora
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