Дэвид Копперфильд

Mischief

           Everywordheutteredhadaforcethatnoothergracecouldhaveimpartedtoit.

           ‘Mylifewiththisladyhasbeenveryhappy.Untiltonight,IhavehaduninterruptedoccasiontoblessthedayonwhichIdidhergreatinjustice.’

           Hisvoice,moreandmorefalteringintheutteranceofthesewords,stoppedforafewmoments;thenhewenton:

           ‘OnceawakenedfrommydreamIhavebeenapoordreamer,inonewayorother,allmylifeIseehownaturalitisthatsheshouldhavesomeregretfulfeelingtowardsheroldcompanionandherequal.Thatshedoesregardhimwithsomeinnocentregret,withsomeblamelessthoughtsofwhatmighthavebeen,butforme,is,Ifear,tootrue.MuchthatIhaveseen,butnotnoted,hascomebackuponmewithnewmeaning,duringthislasttryinghour.But,beyondthis,gentlemen,thedearlady’snamenevermustbecoupledwithaword,abreath,ofdoubt.’

           Foralittlewhile,hiseyekindledandhisvoicewasfirm;foralittlewhilehewasagainsilent.Presently,heproceededasbefore:

           ‘Itonlyremainsforme,tobeartheknowledgeoftheunhappinessIhaveoccasioned,assubmissivelyasIcan.Itisshewhoshouldreproach;notI.Tosaveherfrommisconstruction,cruelmisconstruction,thatevenmyfriendshavenotbeenabletoavoid,becomesmyduty.Themoreretiredwelive,thebetterIshalldischargeit.

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