Дэвид Копперфильд

A Light Shines on My Way

           ForwhomdoIlivenow,Agnes,ifitisnotforyou!’

           ‘Oh,spareme!Iamnotmyself!Anothertime!’wasallIcoulddistinguish.

           Wasitaselfisherrorthatwasleadingmeaway?Or,havingonceacluetohope,wastheresomethingopeningtomethatIhadnotdaredtothinkof?

           ‘Imustsaymore.Icannotletyouleavemeso!ForHeaven’ssake,Agnes,letusnotmistakeeachotherafteralltheseyears,andallthathascomeandgonewiththem!Imustspeakplainly.IfyouhaveanylingeringthoughtthatIcouldenvythehappinessyouwillconfer;thatIcouldnotresignyoutoadearerprotector,ofyourownchoosing;thatIcouldnot,frommyremovedplace,beacontentedwitnessofyourjoy;dismissit,forIdon’tdeserveit!Ihavenotsufferedquiteinvain.Youhavenottaughtmequiteinvain.ThereisnoalloyofselfinwhatIfeelforyou.’

           Shewasquietnow.Inalittletime,sheturnedherpalefacetowardsme,andsaidinalowvoice,brokenhereandthere,butveryclear:

           ‘Ioweittoyourpurefriendshipforme,Trotwoodwhich,indeed,Idonotdoubttotellyou,youaremistaken.Icandonomore.IfIhavesometimes,inthecourseofyears,wantedhelpandcounsel,theyhavecometome.IfIhavesometimesbeenunhappy,thefeelinghaspassedaway.IfIhaveeverhadaburdenonmyheart,ithasbeenlightenedforme.IfIhaveanysecret,itis-nonewone;andisnotwhatyousuppose.Icannotrevealit,ordivideit.

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Roboto Lora
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