Дэвид Копперфильд

The Beginning of a Long Journey

           

           TwiceIcalledhimbyhisname,inthetoneinwhichImighthavetriedtorouseasleeper,beforeheheededme.WhenIatlastinquiredonwhathisthoughtsweresobent,hereplied:

           ‘Onwhat’saforeme,Mas’rDavy;andoveryon.’‘Onthelifebeforeyou,doyoumean?’Hehadpointedconfusedlyouttosea.

           ‘Ay,Mas’rDavy.Idoen’trightlyknowhow’tis,butfromoveryonthereseemedtometocometheendofitlike,’lookingatmeasifhewerewaking,butwiththesamedeterminedface.

           ‘Whatend?’Iasked,possessedbymyformerfear.

           ‘Idoen’tknow,‘hesaid,thoughtfully;‘Iwascallingtomindthatthebeginningofitalldidtakeplacehereandthentheendcome.Butit’sgone!Mas’rDavy,’headded;answering,asIthink,mylook;‘youhan’tnocalltobeafeerdofme:butI’mkiendermuddled;Idon’tfaretofeelnomatters,’whichwasasmuchastosaythathewasnothimself,andquiteconfounded.

           Mr.Peggottystoppingforustojoinhim:wedidso,andsaidnomore.Theremembranceofthis,inconnexionwithmyformerthought,however,hauntedmeatintervals,evenuntiltheinexorableendcameatitsappointedtime.

           Weinsensiblyapproachedtheoldboat,andentered.Mrs.Gummidge,nolongermopinginherespecialcorner,wasbusypreparingbreakfast.ShetookMr.Peggotty’shat,andplacedhisseatforhim,andspokesocomfortablyandsoftly,thatIhardlyknewher.

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