Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am Sent Away from Home

           Ihavelooked,alittleshrinkingcreature,atthatdoor,untiltheownersofallthenamestherewerefive-and-fortyofthemintheschoolthen,Mr.MellsaidseemedtosendmetoCoventrybygeneralacclamation,andtocryout,eachinhisownway,‘Takecareofhim.Hebites!’

           Itwasthesamewiththeplacesatthedesksandforms.ItwasthesamewiththegrovesofdesertedbedsteadsIpeepedat,onmywayto,andwhenIwasin,myownbed.Irememberdreamingnightafternight,ofbeingwithmymotherassheusedtobe,orofgoingtoapartyatMr.Peggotty’s,oroftravellingoutsidethestage-coach,orofdiningagainwithmyunfortunatefriendthewaiter,andinallthesecircumstancesmakingpeoplescreamandstare,bytheunhappydisclosurethatIhadnothingonbutmylittlenight-shirt,andthatplacard.

           Inthemonotonyofmylife,andinmyconstantapprehensionofthere-openingoftheschool,itwassuchaninsupportableaffliction!IhadlongtaskseverydaytodowithMr.Mell;butIdidthem,therebeingnoMr.andMissMurdstonehere,andgotthroughthemwithoutdisgrace.Before,andafterthem,Iwalkedaboutsupervised,asIhavementioned,bythemanwiththewoodenleg.HowvividlyIcalltomindthedampaboutthehouse,thegreencrackedflagstonesinthecourt,anoldleakywater-butt,andthediscolouredtrunksofsomeofthegrimtrees,whichseemedtohavedrippedmoreintherainthanothertrees,andtohaveblownlessinthesun!Atonewedined,Mr.

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