Дэвид Копперфильд

Good and Bad Angels

           Ithought,betweensleepingandwaking,thatitwasstillredhot,andIhadsnatcheditoutofthefire,andrunhimthroughthebody.Iwassohauntedatlastbytheidea,thoughIknewtherewasnothinginit,thatIstoleintothenextroomtolookathim.ThereIsawhim,lyingonhisback,withhislegsextendingtoIdon’tknowwhere,gurglingstakingplaceinhisthroat,stoppagesinhisnose,andhismouthopenlikeapost-office.Hewassomuchworseinrealitythaninmydistemperedfancy,thatafterwardsIwasattractedtohiminveryrepulsion,andcouldnothelpwanderinginandouteveryhalf-hourorso,andtakinganotherlookathim.Still,thelong,longnightseemedheavyandhopelessasever,andnopromiseofdaywasinthemurkysky.

           WhenIsawhimgoingdownstairsearlyinthemorning(for,thankHeaven!hewouldnotstaytobreakfast),itappearedtomeasifthenightwasgoingawayinhisperson.WhenIwentouttotheCommons,IchargedMrs.Cruppwithparticulardirectionstoleavethewindowsopen,thatmysitting-roommightbeaired,andpurgedofhispresence.

Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 619 из 1418