Дэвид Копперфильд

The Sequel of My Resolution

           

           Ihadhadahardday’swork,andwasprettywelljadedwhenIcameclimbingout,atlast,uponthelevelofBlackheath.ItcostmesometroubletofindoutSalemHouse;butIfoundit,andIfoundahaystackinthecorner,andIlaydownbyit;havingfirstwalkedroundthewall,andlookedupatthewindows,andseenthatallwasdarkandsilentwithin.NevershallIforgetthelonelysensationoffirstlyingdown,withoutaroofabovemyhead!

           Sleepcameuponmeasitcameonmanyotheroutcasts,againstwhomhouse-doorswerelocked,andhouse-dogsbarked,thatnightandIdreamedoflyingonmyoldschool-bed,talkingtotheboysinmyroom;andfoundmyselfsittingupright,withSteerforth’snameuponmylips,lookingwildlyatthestarsthatwereglisteningandglimmeringaboveme.WhenIrememberedwhereIwasatthatuntimelyhour,afeelingstoleuponmethatmademegetup,afraidofIdon’tknowwhat,andwalkabout.Butthefainterglimmeringofthestars,andthepalelightintheskywherethedaywascoming,reassuredme:andmyeyesbeingveryheavy,Ilaydownagainandsleptthoughwithaknowledgeinmysleepthatitwascolduntilthewarmbeamsofthesun,andtheringingofthegetting-upbellatSalemHouse,awokeme.IfIcouldhavehopedthatSteerforthwasthere,Iwouldhavelurkedaboutuntilhecameoutalone;butIknewhemusthaveleftlongsince.

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