Дэвид Копперфильд

The Emigrants

           Frombabieswhohadbutaweekortwooflifebehindthem,tocrookedoldmenandwomenwhoseemedtohavebutaweekortwooflifebeforethem;andfromploughmenbodilycarryingoutsoilofEnglandontheirboots,tosmithstakingawaysamplesofitssootandsmokeupontheirskins;everyageandoccupationappearedtobecrammedintothenarrowcompassofthe‘tweendecks.

           Asmyeyeglancedroundthisplace,IthoughtIsawsitting,byanopenport,withoneoftheMicawberchildrennearher,afigurelikeEmily’s;itfirstattractedmyattention,byanotherfigurepartingfromitwithakiss;andasitglidedcalmlyawaythroughthedisorder,remindingmeofAgnes!Butintherapidmotionandconfusion,andintheunsettlementofmyownthoughts,Ilostitagain;andonlyknewthatthetimewascomewhenallvisitorswerebeingwarnedtoleavetheship;thatmynursewascryingonachestbesideme;andthatMrs.Gummidge,assistedbysomeyoungerstoopingwomaninblack,wasbusilyarrangingMr.Peggotty’sgoods.

           ‘Isthereanylastwured,Mas’rDavy?’saidhe.‘Isthereanyoneforgottenthingaforeweparts?’

           ‘Onething!’saidI.‘Martha!’

           HetouchedtheyoungerwomanIhavementionedontheshoulder,andMarthastoodbeforeme.

           ‘Heavenblessyou,yougoodman!’criedI.‘Youtakeherwithyou!’

           Sheansweredforhim,withaburstoftears.

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