Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Memorable Birthday

           IdonotmindthemImindnothingbutmygrief-andyetIseeandknowthemall;andeveninthebackground,faraway,seeMinnielookingon,andhereyeglancingonhersweetheart,whoisnearme.

           Itisover,andtheearthisfilledin,andweturntocomeaway.Beforeusstandsourhouse,soprettyandunchanged,solinkedinmymindwiththeyoungideaofwhatisgone,thatallmysorrowhasbeennothingtothesorrowitcallsforth.Buttheytakemeon;andMr.Chilliptalkstome;andwhenwegethome,putssomewatertomylips;andwhenIaskhisleavetogouptomyroom,dismissesmewiththegentlenessofawoman.

           Allthis,Isay,isyesterday’sevent.Eventsoflaterdatehavefloatedfrommetotheshorewhereallforgottenthingswillreappear,butthisstandslikeahighrockintheocean.

           IknewthatPeggottywouldcometomeinmyroom.TheSabbathstillnessofthetime(thedaywassolikeSunday!Ihaveforgottenthat)wassuitedtousboth.Shesatdownbymysideuponmylittlebed;andholdingmyhand,andsometimesputtingittoherlips,andsometimessmoothingitwithhers,asshemighthavecomfortedmylittlebrother,toldme,inherway,allthatshehadtotellconcerningwhathadhappened.

           ‘Shewasneverwell,’saidPeggotty,‘foralongtime.Shewasuncertaininhermind,andnothappy.Whenherbabywasborn,Ithoughtatfirstshewouldgetbetter,butshewasmoredelicate,andsunkalittleeveryday.

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