Дэвид Копперфильд

A Retrospect

           IamsurprisedtofindhimameekermanthanIhadthought,andlessimposinginappearance.Hehasnotstaggeredtheworldyet,either;foritgoeson(aswellasIcanmakeout)prettymuchthesameasifhehadneverjoinedit.

           Ablank,throughwhichthewarriorsofpoetryandhistorymarchoninstatelyhoststhatseemtohavenoendandwhatcomesnext!Iamthehead-boy,now!Ilookdownonthelineofboysbelowme,withacondescendinginterestinsuchofthemasbringtomymindtheboyIwasmyself,whenIfirstcamethere.Thatlittlefellowseemstobenopartofme;IrememberhimassomethingleftbehindupontheroadoflifeassomethingIhavepassed,ratherthanhaveactuallybeenandalmostthinkofhimasofsomeoneelse.

           AndthelittlegirlIsawonthatfirstdayatMr.Wickfield’s,whereisshe?Gonealso.Inherstead,theperfectlikenessofthepicture,achildlikenessnomore,movesaboutthehouse;andAgnesmysweetsister,asIcallherinmythoughts,mycounsellorandfriend,thebetterangelofthelivesofallwhocomewithinhercalm,good,self-denyinginfluenceisquiteawoman.

           Whatotherchangeshavecomeuponme,besidesthechangesinmygrowthandlooks,andintheknowledgeIhavegarneredallthiswhile?Iwearagoldwatchandchain,aringuponmylittlefinger,andalong-tailedcoat;andIuseagreatdealofbear’sgreasewhich,takeninconjunctionwiththering,looksbad.AmIinloveagain?Iam.IworshiptheeldestMissLarkins.

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