Дэвид Копперфильд

The New Wound, and the Old

           Shemurmured,however,eveninherreceptionofme,thatshewasoutofherownchamberbecauseitsaspectwasunsuitedtoherinfirmity;andwithherstatelylookrepelledtheleastsuspicionofthetruth.

           Atherchair,asusual,wasRosaDartle.Fromthefirstmomentofherdarkeyesrestingonme,IsawsheknewIwasthebearerofeviltidings.Thescarsprungintoviewthatinstant.Shewithdrewherselfastepbehindthechair,tokeepherownfaceoutofMrs.Steerforth’sobservation;andscrutinizedmewithapiercinggazethatneverfaltered,nevershrunk.

           ‘Iamsorrytoobserveyouareinmourning,sir,’saidMrs.Steerforth.

           ‘Iamunhappilyawidower,’saidI.

           ‘Youareveryyoungtoknowsogreataloss,’shereturned.‘Iamgrievedtohearit.Iamgrievedtohearit.IhopeTimewillbegoodtoyou.’

           ‘IhopeTime,’saidI,lookingather,‘willbegoodtoallofus.DearMrs.Steerforth,wemustalltrusttothat,inourheaviestmisfortunes.’

           Theearnestnessofmymanner,andthetearsinmyeyes,alarmedher.Thewholecourseofherthoughtsappearedtostop,andchange.

           Itriedtocommandmyvoiceingentlysayinghisname,butittrembled.Sherepeatedittoherself,twoorthreetimes,inalowtone.Then,addressingme,shesaid,withenforcedcalmness:

           ‘Mysonisill.’

           ‘Veryill.’

           ‘Youhaveseenhim?’

           ‘Ihave.

Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 1289 из 1418