Дэвид Копперфильд

The Beginning of a Long Journey

           ’

           ‘Harktothis,ma’am,’hereturned,slowlyandquietly.‘Youknowwhatitistoloveyourchild.SodoI.Ifshewasahundredtimesmychild,Icouldn’tlovehermore.Youdoen’tknowwhatitistoloseyourchild.Ido.Alltheheapsofrichesinthewureldwouldbenowttome(iftheywasmine)tobuyherback!But,saveherfromthisdisgrace,andsheshallneverbedisgracedbyus.Notoneofusthatshe’sgrowedupamong,notoneofusthat’slivedalongwithherandhadherfortheirallinall,thesemanyyear,willeverlookuponherprittyfaceagain.We’llbecontenttoletherbe;we’llbecontenttothinkofher,faroff,asifshewasunderneathanothersunandsky;we’llbecontenttotrusthertoherhusband,—toherlittlechildren,p’raps,—andbidethetimewhenallofusshallbealikeinqualityaforeourGod!’

           Theruggedeloquencewithwhichhespoke,wasnotdevoidofalleffect.Shestillpreservedherproudmanner,buttherewasatouchofsoftnessinhervoice,assheanswered:

           ‘Ijustifynothing.Imakenocounter-accusations.ButIamsorrytorepeat,itisimpossible.Suchamarriagewouldirretrievablyblightmyson’scareer,andruinhisprospects.Nothingismorecertainthanthatitnevercantakeplace,andneverwill.Ifthereisanyothercompensation——’

           ‘Iamlookingatthelikenessoftheface,’interruptedMr.

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