Дэвид Копперфильд

Some Old Scenes, and Some New People

           Whatoldwomencallthehorrors,havebeencreepingovermefromheadtofoot.Ihavebeenafraidofmyself.’

           ‘Youareafraidofnothingelse,Ithink,’saidI.

           ‘Perhapsnot,andyetmayhaveenoughtobeafraidoftoo,’heanswered.‘Well!Soitgoesby!Iamnotabouttobehippedagain,David;butItellyou,mygoodfellow,oncemore,thatitwouldhavebeenwellforme(andformorethanme)ifIhadhadasteadfastandjudiciousfather!’

           Hisfacewasalwaysfullofexpression,butIneversawitexpresssuchadarkkindofearnestnessaswhenhesaidthesewords,withhisglancebentonthefire.

           ‘Somuchforthat!’hesaid,makingasifhetossedsomethinglightintotheair,withhishand.“‘Why,beinggone,Iamamanagain,”likeMacbeth.Andnowfordinner!IfIhavenot(Macbeth-like)brokenupthefeastwithmostadmireddisorder,Daisy.’

           ‘Butwherearetheyall,Iwonder!’saidI.

           ‘Godknows,’saidSteerforth.‘Afterstrollingtotheferrylookingforyou,Istrolledinhereandfoundtheplacedeserted.Thatsetmethinking,andyoufoundmethinking.’

           TheadventofMrs.Gummidgewithabasket,explainedhowthehousehadhappenedtobeempty.Shehadhurriedouttobuysomethingthatwasneeded,againstMr.Peggotty’sreturnwiththetide;andhadleftthedooropeninthemeanwhile,lestHamandlittleEm’ly,withwhomitwasanearlynight,shouldcomehomewhileshewasgone.

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