Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Change

           

           Westrolledalongway,andloadedourselveswiththingsthatwethoughtcurious,andputsomestrandedstarfishcarefullybackintothewaterIhardlyknowenoughoftheraceatthismomenttobequitecertainwhethertheyhadreasontofeelobligedtousfordoingso,orthereverseandthenmadeourwayhometoMr.Peggotty’sdwelling.Westoppedundertheleeofthelobster-outhousetoexchangeaninnocentkiss,andwentintobreakfastglowingwithhealthandpleasure.

           ‘Liketwoyoungmavishes,’Mr.Peggottysaid.Iknewthismeant,inourlocaldialect,liketwoyoungthrushes,andreceiveditasacompliment.

           OfcourseIwasinlovewithlittleEm’ly.IamsureIlovedthatbabyquiteastruly,quiteastenderly,withgreaterpurityandmoredisinterestedness,thancanenterintothebestloveofalatertimeoflife,highandennoblingasitis.Iamsuremyfancyraisedupsomethingroundthatblue-eyedmiteofachild,whichetherealized,andmadeaveryangelofher.If,anysunnyforenoon,shehadspreadalittlepairofwingsandflownawaybeforemyeyes,Idon’tthinkIshouldhaveregardeditasmuchmorethanIhadhadreasontoexpect.

           WeusedtowalkaboutthatdimoldflatatYarmouthinalovingmanner,hoursandhours.Thedayssportedbyus,asifTimehadnotgrownuphimselfyet,butwereachildtoo,andalwaysatplay.ItoldEm’lyIadoredher,andthatunlesssheconfessedsheadoredmeIshouldbereducedtothenecessityofkillingmyselfwithasword.

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