Дэвид Копперфильд

A Dissolution of Partnership

           Thehousewasrousedupdirectly,andthreeofthemwentoutalongtheroad.Theyfoundhimamileoff.’

           ‘Morethanamileoff,Mr.Tiffey,’interposedajunior.

           ‘Wasit?Ibelieveyouareright,’saidTiffey,‘morethanamileoffnotfarfromthechurchlyingpartlyontheroadside,andpartlyonthepath,uponhisface.Whetherhefelloutinafit,orgotout,feelingillbeforethefitcameonorevenwhetherhewasquitedeadthen,thoughthereisnodoubthewasquiteinsensiblenooneappearstoknow.Ifhebreathed,certainlyheneverspoke.Medicalassistancewasgotassoonaspossible,butitwasquiteuseless.’

           IcannotdescribethestateofmindintowhichIwasthrownbythisintelligence.Theshockofsuchaneventhappeningsosuddenly,andhappeningtoonewithwhomIhadbeeninanyrespectatvariancetheappallingvacancyintheroomhehadoccupiedsolately,wherehischairandtableseemedtowaitforhim,andhishandwritingofyesterdaywaslikeaghostthein-definableimpossibilityofseparatinghimfromtheplace,andfeeling,whenthedooropened,asifhemightcomeinthelazyhushandresttherewasintheoffice,andtheinsatiablerelishwithwhichourpeopletalkedaboutit,andotherpeoplecameinandoutallday,andgorgedthemselveswiththesubjectthisiseasilyintelligibletoanyone.WhatIcannotdescribeis,how,intheinnermostrecessesofmyownheart,IhadalurkingjealousyevenofDeath.

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