Дэвид Копперфильд

I Assist at an Explosion

           Yetthebells,whentheysounded,toldmesorrowfullyofchangeineverything;toldmeoftheirownage,andmyprettyDora’syouth;andofthemany,neverold,whohadlivedandlovedanddied,whilethereverberationsofthebellshadhummedthroughtherustyarmouroftheBlackPrincehangingupwithin,and,motesuponthedeepofTime,hadlostthemselvesinair,ascirclesdoinwater.

           Ilookedattheoldhousefromthecornerofthestreet,butdidnotgonearertoit,lest,beingobserved,ImightunwittinglydoanyharmtothedesignIhadcometoaid.Theearlysunwasstrikingedgewiseonitsgablesandlattice-windows,touchingthemwithgold;andsomebeamsofitsoldpeaceseemedtotouchmyheart.

           Istrolledintothecountryforanhourorso,andthenreturnedbythemainstreet,whichintheintervalhadshakenoffitslastnight’ssleep.Amongthosewhowerestirringintheshops,Isawmyancientenemythebutcher,nowadvancedtotop-bootsandababy,andinbusinessforhimself.Hewasnursingthebaby,andappearedtobeabenignantmemberofsociety.

           Weallbecameveryanxiousandimpatient,whenwesatdowntobreakfast.Asitapproachednearerandnearertohalfpastnineo’clock,ourrestlessexpectationofMr.Micawberincreased.Atlastwemadenomorepretenceofattendingtothemeal,which,exceptwithMr.

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