Дэвид Копперфильд

Absence

           Beyondalineortwo,tosaythatIwaswell,andhadarrivedatsuchaplace,IhadnothadfortitudeorconstancytowritealettersinceIlefthome.

           Thepacketwasinmyhand.Iopenedit,andreadthewritingofAgnes.

           Shewashappyanduseful,wasprosperingasshehadhoped.Thatwasallshetoldmeofherself.Therestreferredtome.

           Shegavemenoadvice;sheurgednodutyonme;sheonlytoldme,inherownferventmanner,whathertrustinmewas.Sheknew(shesaid)howsuchanatureasminewouldturnafflictiontogood.Sheknewhowtrialandemotionwouldexaltandstrengthenit.ShewassurethatinmyeverypurposeIshouldgainafirmerandahighertendency,throughthegriefIhadundergone.She,whosogloriedinmyfame,andsolookedforwardtoitsaugmentation,wellknewthatIwouldlabouron.Sheknewthatinme,sorrowcouldnotbeweakness,butmustbestrength.AstheenduranceofmychildishdayshaddoneitsparttomakemewhatIwas,sogreatercalamitieswouldnervemeon,tobeyetbetterthanIwas;andso,astheyhadtaughtme,wouldIteachothers.ShecommendedmetoGod,whohadtakenmyinnocentdarlingtoHisrest;andinhersisterlyaffectioncherishedmealways,andwasalwaysatmysidegowhereIwould;proudofwhatIhaddone,butinfinitelyprouderyetofwhatIwasreservedtodo.

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