Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Memorable Birthday

           Sheusedtoliketositalonebeforeherbabycame,andthenshecried;butafterwardssheusedtosingtoitsosoft,thatIoncethought,whenIheardher,itwaslikeavoiceupintheair,thatwasrisingaway.

           ‘Ithinkshegottobemoretimid,andmorefrightened-like,oflate;andthatahardwordwaslikeablowtoher.Butshewasalwaysthesametome.SheneverchangedtoherfoolishPeggotty,didn’tmysweetgirl.’

           HerePeggottystopped,andsoftlybeatuponmyhandalittlewhile.

           ‘ThelasttimethatIsawherlikeherownoldself,wasthenightwhenyoucamehome,mydear.Thedayyouwentaway,shesaidtome,“Inevershallseemyprettydarlingagain.Somethingtellsmeso,thattellsthetruth,Iknow.”

           ‘Shetriedtoholdupafterthat;andmanyatime,whentheytoldhershewasthoughtlessandlight-hearted,madebelievetobeso;butitwasallabygonethen.Shenevertoldherhusbandwhatshehadtoldmeshewasafraidofsayingittoanybodyelsetillonenight,alittlemorethanaweekbeforeithappened,whenshesaidtohim:“Mydear,IthinkIamdying.”

           ‘“It’soffmymindnow,Peggotty,”shetoldme,whenIlaidherinherbedthatnight.“Hewillbelieveitmoreandmore,poorfellow,everydayforafewdaystocome;andthenitwillbepast.Iamverytired.Ifthisissleep,sitbymewhileIsleep:don’tleaveme.

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