Дэвид Копперфильд

A Greater Loss

           

           MyoldnursewastogotoLondonwithmenextday,onthebusinessofthewill.LittleEmilywaspassingthatdayatMr.Omer’s.Wewerealltomeetintheoldboathousethatnight.HamwouldbringEmilyattheusualhour.Iwouldwalkbackatmyleisure.Thebrotherandsisterwouldreturnastheyhadcome,andbeexpectingus,whenthedayclosedin,atthefireside.

           Ipartedfromthematthewicket-gate,wherevisionaryStraphadrestedwithRoderickRandom’sknapsackinthedaysofyore;and,insteadofgoingstraightback,walkedalittledistanceontheroadtoLowestoft.ThenIturned,andwalkedbacktowardsYarmouth.Istayedtodineatadecentalehouse,somemileortwofromtheFerryIhavementionedbefore;andthusthedayworeaway,anditwaseveningwhenIreachedit.Rainwasfallingheavilybythattime,anditwasawildnight;buttherewasamoonbehindtheclouds,anditwasnotdark.

           IwassoonwithinsightofMr.Peggotty’shouse,andofthelightwithinitshiningthroughthewindow.Alittleflounderingacrossthesand,whichwasheavy,broughtmetothedoor,andIwentin.

           Itlookedverycomfortableindeed.Mr.Peggottyhadsmokedhiseveningpipeandtherewerepreparationsforsomesupperbyandby.Thefirewasbright,theasheswerethrownup,thelockerwasreadyforlittleEmilyinheroldplace.InherownoldplacesatPeggotty,oncemore,looking(butforherdress)asifshehadneverleftit.

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