Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           SoIthankedherardentlyforthismarkofheraffection,andforallherotherkindnessestowardsme;andafteratendergoodnight,shetookhernightcapintomybedroom.

           HowmiserableIwas,whenIlaydown!HowIthoughtandthoughtaboutmybeingpoor,inMr.Spenlow’seyes;aboutmynotbeingwhatIthoughtIwas,whenIproposedtoDora;aboutthechivalrousnecessityoftellingDorawhatmyworldlyconditionwas,andreleasingherfromherengagementifshethoughtfit;abouthowIshouldcontrivetolive,duringthelongtermofmyarticles,whenIwasearningnothing;aboutdoingsomethingtoassistmyaunt,andseeingnowayofdoinganything;aboutcomingdowntohavenomoneyinmypocket,andtowearashabbycoat,andtobeabletocarryDoranolittlepresents,andtoridenogallantgreys,andtoshowmyselfinnoagreeablelight!SordidandselfishasIknewitwas,andasItorturedmyselfbyknowingthatitwas,toletmymindrunonmyowndistresssomuch,IwassodevotedtoDorathatIcouldnothelpit.Iknewthatitwasbaseinmenottothinkmoreofmyaunt,andlessofmyself;but,sofar,selfishnesswasinseparablefromDora,andIcouldnotputDoraononesideforanymortalcreature.HowexceedinglymiserableIwas,thatnight!

           Astosleep,Ihaddreamsofpovertyinallsortsofshapes,butIseemedtodreamwithoutthepreviousceremonyofgoingtosleep.

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