Дэвид Копперфильд

I Fall into Captivity

           

           Idon’tmeanthedreamsthatIdreamedonthatdayalone,butdayafterday,fromweektoweek,andtermtoterm.Iwentthere,nottoattendtowhatwasgoingon,buttothinkaboutDora.IfeverIbestowedathoughtuponthecases,astheydraggedtheirslowlengthbeforeme,itwasonlytowonder,inthematrimonialcases(rememberingDora),howitwasthatmarriedpeoplecouldeverbeotherwisethanhappy;and,inthePrerogativecases,toconsider,ifthemoneyinquestionhadbeenlefttome,whatweretheforemoststepsIshouldimmediatelyhavetakeninregardtoDora.Withinthefirstweekofmypassion,Iboughtfoursumptuouswaistcoats—notformyself;Ihadnoprideinthem;forDoraandtooktowearingstraw-colouredkidglovesinthestreets,andlaidthefoundationsofallthecornsIhaveeverhad.IfthebootsIworeatthatperiodcouldonlybeproducedandcomparedwiththenaturalsizeofmyfeet,theywouldshowwhatthestateofmyheartwas,inamostaffectingmanner.

           Andyet,wretchedcrippleasImademyselfbythisactofhomagetoDora,Iwalkedmilesuponmilesdailyinthehopeofseeingher.NotonlywasIsoonaswellknownontheNorwoodRoadasthepostmenonthatbeat,butIpervadedLondonlikewise.Iwalkedaboutthestreetswherethebestshopsforladieswere,IhauntedtheBazaarlikeanunquietspirit,IfaggedthroughtheParkagainandagain,longafterIwasquiteknockedup.Sometimes,atlongintervalsandonrareoccasions,Isawher.

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Roboto Lora
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