Дэвид Копперфильд

Good and Bad Angels

           ‘YouaremygoodAngel!’

           Shesmiledrathersadly,Ithought,andshookherhead.

           ‘Yes,Agnes,mygoodAngel!AlwaysmygoodAngel!’

           ‘IfIwere,indeed,Trotwood,’shereturned,‘thereisonethingthatIshouldsetmyheartonverymuch.’

           Ilookedatherinquiringly;butalreadywithaforeknowledgeofhermeaning.

           ‘Onwarningyou,’saidAgnes,withasteadyglance,‘againstyourbadAngel.’

           ‘MydearAgnes,’Ibegan,‘ifyoumeanSteerforth

           ‘Ido,Trotwood,’shereturned.‘Then,Agnes,youwronghimverymuch.HemybadAngel,oranyone’s!He,anythingbutaguide,asupport,andafriendtome!MydearAgnes!Now,isitnotunjust,andunlikeyou,tojudgehimfromwhatyousawofmetheothernight?’

           ‘IdonotjudgehimfromwhatIsawofyoutheothernight,’shequietlyreplied.

           ‘Fromwhat,then?’

           ‘Frommanythingstriflesinthemselves,buttheydonotseemtometobeso,whentheyareputtogether.Ijudgehim,partlyfromyouraccountofhim,Trotwood,andyourcharacter,andtheinfluencehehasoveryou.’

           Therewasalwayssomethinginhermodestvoicethatseemedtotouchachordwithinme,answeringtothatsoundalone.Itwasalwaysearnest;butwhenitwasveryearnest,asitwasnow,therewasathrillinitthatquitesubduedme.

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