Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           Thisconsiderationsetmethinkingandthinkingofanimaginarypartywherepeopleweredancingthehoursaway,untilthatbecameadreamtoo,andIheardthemusicincessantlyplayingonetune,andsawDoraincessantlydancingonedance,withouttakingtheleastnoticeofme.Themanwhohadbeenplayingtheharpallnight,wastryinginvaintocoveritwithanordinary-sizednightcap,whenIawoke;orIshouldrathersay,whenIleftofftryingtogotosleep,andsawthesunshininginthroughthewindowatlast.

           TherewasanoldRomanbathinthosedaysatthebottomofoneofthestreetsoutoftheStranditmaybetherestillinwhichIhavehadmanyacoldplunge.DressingmyselfasquietlyasIcould,andleavingPeggottytolookaftermyaunt,Itumbledheadforemostintoit,andthenwentforawalktoHampstead.Ihadahopethatthisbrisktreatmentmightfreshenmywitsalittle;andIthinkitdidthemgood,forIsooncametotheconclusionthatthefirststepIoughttotakewas,totryifmyarticlescouldbecancelledandthepremiumrecovered.IgotsomebreakfastontheHeath,andwalkedbacktoDoctors’Commons,alongthewateredroadsandthroughapleasantsmellofsummerflowers,growingingardensandcarriedintotownonhucksters’heads,intentonthisfirstefforttomeetouralteredcircumstances.

           Iarrivedattheofficesosoon,afterall,thatIhadhalfanhour’sloiteringabouttheCommons,beforeoldTiffey,whowasalwaysfirst,appearedwithhiskey.

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