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Martha

           

           ‘AndwhenIheardwhathadhappenedbeforethatsnowynight,fromsomebelongingtoourtown,’criedMartha,‘thebitterestthoughtinallmymindwas,thatthepeoplewouldremembersheoncekeptcompanywithme,andwouldsayIhadcorruptedher!When,Heavenknows,Iwouldhavediedtohavebroughtbackhergoodname!’

           Longunusedtoanyself-control,thepiercingagonyofherremorseandgriefwasterrible.

           ‘Tohavedied,wouldnothavebeenmuchwhatcanIsay?Iwouldhavelived!’shecried.‘Iwouldhavelivedtobeold,inthewretchedstreetsandtowanderabout,avoided,inthedarkandtoseethedaybreakontheghastlylineofhouses,andrememberhowthesamesunusedtoshineintomyroom,andwakemeonceIwouldhavedoneeventhat,tosaveher!’

           Sinkingonthestones,shetooksomeineachhand,andclenchedthemup,asifshewouldhavegroundthem.Shewrithedintosomenewpostureconstantly:stiffeningherarms,twistingthembeforeherface,asthoughtoshutoutfromhereyesthelittlelighttherewas,anddroopingherhead,asifitwereheavywithinsupportablerecollections.

           ‘WhatshallIeverdo!’shesaid,fightingthuswithherdespair.‘HowcanIgoonasIam,asolitarycursetomyself,alivingdisgracetoeveryoneIcomenear!’Suddenlysheturnedtomycompanion.‘Stampuponme,killme!Whenshewasyourpride,youwouldhavethoughtIhaddoneherharmifIhadbrushedagainstherinthestreet.

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