Дэвид Копперфильд

A Light Shines on My Way

           

           MydutytoAgnes,wholovedmewithalove,which,ifIdisquieted,Iwrongedmostselfishlyandpoorly,andcouldneverrestore;mymaturedassurancethatI,whohadworkedoutmyowndestiny,andwonwhatIhadimpetuouslysetmyhearton,hadnorighttomurmur,andmustbear;comprisedwhatIfeltandwhatIhadlearned.ButIlovedher:andnowitevenbecamesomeconsolationtome,vaguelytoconceiveadistantdaywhenImightblamelesslyavowit;whenallthisshouldbeover;whenIcouldsay‘Agnes,soitwaswhenIcamehome;andnowIamold,andIneverhavelovedsince!’

           Shedidnotonceshowmeanychangeinherself.Whatshealwayshadbeentome,shestillwas;whollyunaltered.

           Betweenmyauntandmetherehadbeensomething,inthisconnexion,sincethenightofmyreturn,whichIcannotcallarestraint,oranavoidanceofthesubject,somuchasanimpliedunderstandingthatwethoughtofittogether,butdidnotshapeourthoughtsintowords.When,accordingtoouroldcustom,wesatbeforethefireatnight,weoftenfellintothistrain;asnaturally,andasconsciouslytoeachother,asifwehadunreservedlysaidso.Butwepreservedanunbrokensilence.Ibelievedthatshehadread,orpartlyread,mythoughtsthatnight;andthatshefullycomprehendedwhyIgaveminenomoredistinctexpression.

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