Дэвид Копперфильд

Liking Life on My Own Account No Better, I Form a Great Resolution

           Micawbersatatthebackofthecoach,withthechildren,andIstoodintheroadlookingwistfullyatthem,amistclearedfromhereyes,andshesawwhatalittlecreatureIreallywas.Ithinkso,becauseshebeckonedtometoclimbup,withquiteanewandmotherlyexpressioninherface,andputherarmroundmyneck,andgavemejustsuchakissasshemighthavegiventoherownboy.Ihadbarelytimetogetdownagainbeforethecoachstarted,andIcouldhardlyseethefamilyforthehandkerchiefstheywaved.Itwasgoneinaminute.TheOrflingandIstoodlookingvacantlyateachotherinthemiddleoftheroad,andthenshookhandsandsaidgood-bye;shegoingback,Isuppose,toSt.Luke’sworkhouse,asIwenttobeginmywearydayatMurdstoneandGrinby’s.

           Butwithnointentionofpassingmanymorewearydaysthere.No.Ihadresolvedtorunaway.Togo,bysomemeansorother,downintothecountry,totheonlyrelationIhadintheworld,andtellmystorytomyaunt,MissBetsey.IhavealreadyobservedthatIdon’tknowhowthisdesperateideacameintomybrain.But,oncethere,itremainedthere;andhardenedintoapurposethanwhichIhaveneverentertainedamoredeterminedpurposeinmylife.IamfarfromsurethatIbelievedtherewasanythinghopefulinit,butmymindwasthoroughlymadeupthatitmustbecarriedintoexecution.

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