Дэвид Копперфильд

Steerforth’s Home

           Ididn’tknow,andnowIdoknow,andthatshowstheadvantageofaskingdon’tit?’

           IbelievedthatSteerforthhadsaidwhathehad,injest,ortodrawMissDartleout;andIexpectedhimtosayasmuchwhenshewasgone,andwetwoweresittingbeforethefire.ButhemerelyaskedmewhatIthoughtofher.

           ‘Sheisveryclever,isshenot?’Iasked.

           ‘Clever!Shebringseverythingtoagrindstone,’saidSteerforth,andsharpensit,asshehassharpenedherownfaceandfiguretheseyearspast.Shehaswornherselfawaybyconstantsharpening.Sheisalledge.’

           ‘Whataremarkablescarthatisuponherlip!’Isaid.

           Steerforth’sfacefell,andhepausedamoment.

           ‘Why,thefactis,’hereturned,‘Ididthat.’

           ‘Byanunfortunateaccident!’

           ‘No.Iwasayoungboy,andsheexasperatedme,andIthrewahammerather.ApromisingyoungangelImusthavebeen!’Iwasdeeplysorrytohavetouchedonsuchapainfultheme,butthatwasuselessnow.

           ‘Shehasbornethemarkeversince,asyousee,’saidSteerforth;‘andshe’llbearittohergrave,ifsheeverrestsinonethoughIcanhardlybelieveshewilleverrestanywhere.Shewasthemotherlesschildofasortofcousinofmyfather’s.Hediedoneday.Mymother,whowasthenawidow,broughtherheretobecompanytoher.

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