Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am Sent Away from Home

           Shefadesinherturn,andhefades,andallfades,andthereisnoflute,noMaster,noSalemHouse,noDavidCopperfield,noanythingbutheavysleep.

           Idreamed,Ithought,thatoncewhilehewasblowingintothisdismalflute,theoldwomanofthehouse,whohadgonenearerandnearertohiminherecstaticadmiration,leanedoverthebackofhischairandgavehimanaffectionatesqueezeroundtheneck,whichstoppedhisplayingforamoment.Iwasinthemiddlestatebetweensleepingandwaking,eitherthenorimmediatelyafterwards;for,asheresumeditwasarealfactthathehadstoppedplaying-IsawandheardthesameoldwomanaskMrs.Fibbitsonifitwasn’tdelicious(meaningtheflute),towhichMrs.Fibbitsonreplied,‘Ay,ay!yes!’andnoddedatthefire:towhich,Iampersuaded,shegavethecreditofthewholeperformance.

           WhenIseemedtohavebeendozingalongwhile,theMasteratSalemHouseunscrewedhisfluteintothethreepieces,putthemupasbefore,andtookmeaway.Wefoundthecoachverynearathand,andgotupontheroof;butIwassodeadsleepy,thatwhenwestoppedontheroadtotakeupsomebodyelse,theyputmeinsidewheretherewerenopassengers,andwhereIsleptprofoundly,untilIfoundthecoachgoingatafootpaceupasteephillamonggreenleaves.Presently,itstopped,andhadcometoitsdestination.

           AshortwalkbroughtusImeantheMasterandmetoSalemHouse,whichwasenclosedwithahighbrickwall,andlookedverydull.

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