Дэвид Копперфильд

A Greater Loss

           

           ‘Readit,sir,’hesaid,inalowshiveringvoice.‘Slow,please.Idoen’tknowasIcanunderstand.’

           Inthemidstofthesilenceofdeath,Ireadthus,fromablottedletter:

           ‘“Whenyou,wholovemesomuchbetterthanIeverhavedeserved,evenwhenmymindwasinnocent,seethis,Ishallbefaraway.”’

           ‘Ishallbefuraway,’herepeatedslowly.‘Stop!Em’lyfuraway.Well!’

           ‘“WhenIleavemydearhomemydearhomeoh,mydearhome!inthemorning,”’

           theletterboredateonthepreviousnight:

           ‘”-itwillbenevertocomeback,unlesshebringsmebackalady.Thiswillbefoundatnight,manyhoursafter,insteadofme.Oh,ifyouknewhowmyheartistorn.Ifevenyou,thatIhavewrongedsomuch,thatnevercanforgiveme,couldonlyknowwhatIsuffer!Iamtoowickedtowriteaboutmyself!Oh,takecomfortinthinkingthatIamsobad.Oh,formercy’ssake,tellunclethatIneverlovedhimhalfsodearasnow.Oh,don’trememberhowaffectionateandkindyouhaveallbeentomedon’trememberwewereevertobemarriedbuttrytothinkasifIdiedwhenIwaslittle,andwasburiedsomewhere.PrayHeaventhatIamgoingawayfrom,havecompassiononmyuncle!TellhimthatIneverlovedhimhalfsodear.Behiscomfort.LovesomegoodgirlthatwillbewhatIwasoncetouncle,andbetruetoyou,andworthyofyou,andknownoshamebutme.

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