Дэвид Копперфильд

Tempest

           Whensomewhite-headedbillowsthunderedon,anddashedthemselvestopiecesbeforetheyreachedtheland,everyfragmentofthelatewholeseemedpossessedbythefullmightofitswrath,rushingtobegatheredtothecompositionofanothermonster.Undulatinghillswerechangedtovalleys,undulatingvalleys(withasolitarystorm-birdsometimesskimmingthroughthem)werelifteduptohills;massesofwatershiveredandshookthebeachwithaboomingsound;everyshapetumultuouslyrolledon,assoonasmade,tochangeitsshapeandplace,andbeatanothershapeandplaceaway;theidealshoreonthehorizon,withitstowersandbuildings,roseandfell;thecloudsfellfastandthick;Iseemedtoseearendingandupheavingofallnature.

           NotfindingHamamongthepeoplewhomthismemorablewindforitisstillremembereddownthere,asthegreatesteverknowntoblowuponthatcoasthadbroughttogether,Imademywaytohishouse.Itwasshut;andasnooneansweredtomyknocking,Iwent,bybackwaysandby-lanes,totheyardwhereheworked.Ilearned,there,thathehadgonetoLowestoft,tomeetsomesuddenexigencyofship-repairinginwhichhisskillwasrequired;butthathewouldbebacktomorrowmorning,ingoodtime.

           Iwentbacktotheinn;andwhenIhadwashedanddressed,andtriedtosleep,butinvain,itwasfiveo’clockintheafternoon.

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