Дэвид Копперфильд

Another Retrospect

           Ihavebethoughtmeofallthatgraciousandcompassionatehistory.Ihavetriedtoresignmyself,andtoconsolemyself;andthat,Ihope,Imayhavedoneimperfectly;butwhatIcannotfirmlysettleinmymindis,thattheendwillabsolutelycome.Iholdherhandinmine,Iholdherheartinmine,Iseeherloveforme,aliveinallitsstrength.Icannotshutoutapalelingeringshadowofbeliefthatshewillbespared.

           ‘Iamgoingtospeaktoyou,Doady.IamgoingtosaysomethingIhaveoftenthoughtofsaying,lately.Youwon’tmind?’withagentlelook.

           ‘Mind,mydarling?’

           ‘BecauseIdon’tknowwhatyouwillthink,orwhatyoumayhavethoughtsometimes.Perhapsyouhaveoftenthoughtthesame.Doady,dear,IamafraidIwastooyoung.’

           Ilaymyfaceuponthepillowbyher,andshelooksintomyeyes,andspeaksverysoftly.Gradually,asshegoeson,Ifeel,withastrickenheart,thatsheisspeakingofherselfaspast.

           ‘Iamafraid,dear,Iwastooyoung.Idon’tmeaninyearsonly,butinexperience,andthoughts,andeverything.Iwassuchasillylittlecreature!Iamafraiditwouldhavebeenbetter,ifwehadonlylovedeachotherasaboyandgirl,andforgottenit.IhavebeguntothinkIwasnotfittobeawife.’

           Itrytostaymytears,andtoreply,‘Oh,Dora,love,asfitasItobeahusband!’

           ‘Idon’tknow,’withtheoldshakeofhercurls.

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Roboto Lora
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