Дэвид Копперфильд

A Loss

           

           Theprobabilityofhiseverdoingso,appearedtome,whenIsawhim,tobeverysmall.Hewaslyingwithhisheadandshouldersoutofbed,inanuncomfortableattitude,halfrestingontheboxwhichhadcosthimsomuchpainandtrouble.Ilearned,that,whenhewaspastcreepingoutofbedtoopenit,andpastassuringhimselfofitssafetybymeansofthediviningrodIhadseenhimuse,hehadrequiredtohaveitplacedonthechairatthebed-side,wherehehadeversinceembracedit,nightandday.Hisarmlayonitnow.Timeandtheworldwereslippingfrombeneathhim,buttheboxwasthere;andthelastwordshehadutteredwere(inanexplanatorytone)‘Oldclothes!’

           ‘Barkis,mydear!’saidPeggotty,almostcheerfully:bendingoverhim,whileherbrotherandIstoodatthebed’sfoot.‘Here’smydearboymydearboy,MasterDavy,whobroughtustogether,Barkis!Thatyousentmessagesby,youknow!Won’tyouspeaktoMasterDavy?’

           Hewasasmuteandsenselessasthebox,fromwhichhisformderivedtheonlyexpressionithad.

           ‘He’sagoingoutwiththetide,’saidMr.Peggottytome,behindhishand.

           MyeyesweredimandsowereMr.Peggotty’s;butIrepeatedinawhisper,‘Withthetide?’

           ‘Peoplecan’tdie,alongthecoast,’saidMr.Peggotty,‘exceptwhenthetide’sprettynighout.Theycan’tbeborn,unlessit’sprettynighinnotproperlyborn,tillflood.He’sagoingoutwiththetide

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