Дэвид Копперфильд

My First Dissipation

           Iseeherfacenow,betterthanIdidthen,Idaresay,withitsindeliblelookofregretandwonderturneduponme.

           ‘Agnes!’Isaid,thickly,‘Lorblessmer!Agnes!’

           ‘Hush!Pray!’sheanswered,Icouldnotconceivewhy.‘Youdisturbthecompany.Lookatthestage!’

           Itried,onherinjunction,tofixit,andtohearsomethingofwhatwasgoingonthere,butquiteinvain.Ilookedatheragainbyandby,andsawhershrinkintohercorner,andputherglovedhandtoherforehead.

           ‘Agnes!’Isaid.‘I’mafraidyou’renorwell.’

           ‘Yes,yes.Donotmindme,Trotwood,’shereturned.‘Listen!Areyougoingawaysoon?’

           ‘Amigoarawaysoo?’Irepeated.

           ‘Yes.’

           IhadastupidintentionofreplyingthatIwasgoingtowait,tohandherdownstairs.IsupposeIexpressedit,somehow;foraftershehadlookedatmeattentivelyforalittlewhile,sheappearedtounderstand,andrepliedinalowtone:

           ‘IknowyouwilldoasIaskyou,ifItellyouIamveryearnestinit.Goawaynow,Trotwood,formysake,andaskyourfriendstotakeyouhome.’

           Shehadsofarimprovedme,forthetime,thatthoughIwasangrywithher,Ifeltashamed,andwithashort‘Goori!’(whichIintendedfor‘Goodnight!’)gotupandwentaway.

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