Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           

           Iwastryingtofamiliarizemymindwiththeworst,andtopresenttomyselfthearrangementsweshouldhavetomakeforthefutureintheirsternestaspect,whenahackney-chariotcomingafterme,andstoppingatmyveryfeet,occasionedmetolookup.Afairhandwasstretchedforthtomefromthewindow;andthefaceIhadneverseenwithoutafeelingofserenityandhappiness,fromthemomentwhenitfirstturnedbackontheoldoakstaircasewiththegreatbroadbalustrade,andwhenIassociateditssoftenedbeautywiththestained-glasswindowinthechurch,wassmilingonme.

           ‘Agnes!’Ijoyfullyexclaimed.‘Oh,mydearAgnes,ofallpeopleintheworld,whatapleasuretoseeyou!’

           ‘Isit,indeed?’shesaid,inhercordialvoice.

           ‘Iwanttotalktoyousomuch!’saidI.‘It’ssuchalighteningofmyheart,onlytolookatyou!IfIhadhadaconjuror’scap,thereisnooneIshouldhavewishedforbutyou!’

           ‘What?’returnedAgnes.

           ‘Well!perhapsDorafirst,’Iadmitted,withablush.

           ‘Certainly,Dorafirst,Ihope,’saidAgnes,laughing.

           ‘Butyounext!’saidI.‘Whereareyougoing?’

           Shewasgoingtomyroomstoseemyaunt.Thedaybeingveryfine,shewasgladtocomeoutofthechariot,whichsmelt(Ihadmyheadinitallthistime)likeastableputunderacucumber-frame.Idismissedthecoachman,andshetookmyarm,andwewalkedontogether.

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Roboto Lora
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