Дэвид Копперфильд

A Loss

           Peggotty,lookingroundatbothofus,withinfinitepride;‘buttheseaain’tmoresaltinitthanshehasfondnessinherforheruncleafoolishlittleEm’ly!’

           ‘Em’ly’sintherightinthat,Mas’rDavy!’saidHam.‘Lookeehere!AsEm’lywishesofit,andasshe’shurriedandfrightened,like,besides,I’llleavehertillmorning.Letmestaytoo!’

           ‘No,no,’saidMr.Peggotty.‘Youdoen’toughtamarriedmanlikeyouorwhat’sasgoodtotakeandhullawayaday’swork.Andyoudoen’toughttowatchandworkboth.Thatwon’tdo.Yougohomeandturnin.Youain’tafeerdofEm’lynotbeingtookgoodcareon,Iknow.’Hamyieldedtothispersuasion,andtookhishattogo.Evenwhenhekissedher.andIneversawhimapproachher,butIfeltthatnaturehadgivenhimthesoulofagentlemansheseemedtoclingclosertoheruncle,eventotheavoidanceofherchosenhusband.Ishutthedoorafterhim,thatitmightcausenodisturbanceofthequietthatprevailed;andwhenIturnedback,IfoundMr.Peggottystilltalkingtoher.

           ‘Now,I’magoingupstairstotellyourauntasMas’rDavy’shere,andthat’llcheerherupabit,’hesaid.‘Sityedownbythefire,thewhile,mydear,andwarmthosemortalcoldhands.Youdoen’tneedtobesofearsome,andtakeonsomuch.

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