Девід Копперфільд

The New Wound, and the Old

           Steerforth,fallenbackstifflyinherchair,andmakingnosoundbutamoan,casthereyesuponherwithawidestare.

           ‘Aye!’criedRosa,smitingherselfpassionatelyonthebreast,‘lookatme!Moan,andgroan,andlookatme!Lookhere!’strikingthescar,‘atyourdeadchild’shandiwork!’

           Themoanthemotheruttered,fromtimetotime,wenttoMyheart.Alwaysthesame.Alwaysinarticulateandstifled.Alwaysaccompaniedwithanincapablemotionofthehead,butwithnochangeofface.Alwaysproceedingfromarigidmouthandclosedteeth,asifthejawwerelockedandthefacefrozenupinpain.

           ‘Doyourememberwhenhedidthis?’sheproceeded.‘Doyourememberwhen,inhisinheritanceofyournature,andinyourpamperingofhisprideandpassion,hedidthis,anddisfiguredmeforlife?Lookatme,markeduntilIdiewithhishighdispleasure;andmoanandgroanforwhatyoumadehim!’

           ‘MissDartle,’Ientreatedher.‘ForHeaven’ssake

           ‘IWILLspeak!’shesaid,turningonmewithherlightningeyes.‘Besilent,you!Lookatme,Isay,proudmotherofaproud,falseson!Moanforyournurtureofhim,moanforyourcorruptionofhim,moanforyourlossofhim,moanformine!’

           Sheclenchedherhand,andtrembledthroughherspare,wornfigure,asifherpassionwerekillingherbyinches.

           ‘You,resenthisself-will!’sheexclaimed.

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Roboto Lora
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