Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Change

           Idon’tknowthatIsupposedanythingofthekind,butIfeltitanactofgallantrytosaysomething;andashiningsailclosetousmadesuchaprettylittleimageofitself,atthemoment,inherbrighteye,thatitcameintomyheadtosaythis.

           ‘No,’repliedEm’ly,shakingherhead,‘I’mafraidofthesea.’

           ‘Afraid!’Isaid,withabecomingairofboldness,andlookingverybigatthemightyocean.‘Ian’t!’

           ‘Ah!butit’scruel,’saidEm’ly.‘Ihaveseenitverycrueltosomeofourmen.Ihaveseenittearaboatasbigasourhouse,alltopieces.’

           ‘Ihopeitwasn’ttheboatthat

           ‘Thatfatherwasdrowndedin?’saidEm’ly.‘No.Notthatone,Ineverseethatboat.’

           ‘Norhim?’Iaskedher.

           LittleEm’lyshookherhead.‘Nottoremember!’

           Herewasacoincidence!IimmediatelywentintoanexplanationhowIhadneverseenmyownfather;andhowmymotherandIhadalwayslivedbyourselvesinthehappieststateimaginable,andlivedsothen,andalwaysmeanttoliveso;andhowmyfather’sgravewasinthechurchyardnearourhouse,andshadedbyatree,beneaththeboughsofwhichIhadwalkedandheardthebirdssingmanyapleasantmorning.ButthereweresomedifferencesbetweenEm’ly’sorphanhoodandmine,itappeared.

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