Дэвид Копперфильд

Domestic

           

           ‘Andyouwon’ttellme,anymore,thatwemakeotherpeoplebad,’coaxedDora;‘willyou?Becauseyouknowit’ssodreadfullycross!’

           ‘No,no,’saidI.

           ‘it’sbetterformetobestupidthanuncomfortable,isn’tit?’saidDora.

           ‘BettertobenaturallyDorathananythingelseintheworld.’

           ‘Intheworld!Ah,Doady,it’salargeplace!’

           Sheshookherhead,turnedherdelightedbrighteyesuptomine,kissedme,brokeintoamerrylaugh,andsprangawaytoputonJip’snewcollar.

           SoendedmylastattempttomakeanychangeinDora.Ihadbeenunhappyintryingit;Icouldnotenduremyownsolitarywisdom;Icouldnotreconcileitwithherformerappealtomeasmychild-wife.IresolvedtodowhatIcould,inaquietway,toimproveourproceedingsmyself,butIforesawthatmyutmostwouldbeverylittle,orImustdegenerateintothespideragain,andbeforeverlyinginwait.

           AndtheshadowIhavementioned,thatwasnottobebetweenusanymore,butwastorestwhollyonmyownheart?Howdidthatfall?

           Theoldunhappyfeelingpervadedmylife.Itwasdeepened,ifitwerechangedatall;butitwasasundefinedasever,andaddressedmelikeastrainofsorrowfulmusicfaintlyheardinthenight.Ilovedmywifedearly,andIwashappy;butthehappinessIhadvaguelyanticipated,once,wasnotthehappinessIenjoyed,andtherewasalwayssomethingwanting.

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