Девід Копперфільд

The New Wound, and the Old

           Yes,hedid!Manyatime,whenyouwereputoffwithaslightword,hehastakenMetohisheart!’

           Shesaiditwithatauntingprideinthemidstofherfrenzy—foritwaslittleless—yetwithaneagerremembranceofit,inwhichthesmoulderingembersofagentlerfeelingkindledforthemoment.

           ‘Idescended—asImighthaveknownIshould,butthathefascinatedmewithhisboyishcourtship—intoadoll,atriflefortheoccupationofanidlehour,tobedropped,andtakenup,andtrifledwith,astheinconstanthumourtookhim.Whenhegrewweary,Igrewweary.Ashisfancydiedout,IwouldnomorehavetriedtostrengthenanypowerIhad,thanIwouldhavemarriedhimonhisbeingforcedtotakemeforhiswife.Wefellawayfromoneanotherwithoutaword.Perhapsyousawit,andwerenotsorry.Sincethen,Ihavebeenameredisfiguredpieceoffurniturebetweenyouboth;havingnoeyes,noears,nofeelings,noremembrances.Moan?Moanforwhatyoumadehim;notforyourlove.Itellyouthatthetimewas,whenIlovedhimbetterthanyoueverdid!’

           Shestoodwithherbrightangryeyesconfrontingthewidestare,andthesetface;andsoftenednomore,whenthemoaningwasrepeated,thanifthefacehadbeenapicture.

           ‘MissDartle,’saidI,‘ifyoucanbesoobdurateasnottofeelforthisafflictedmother——’

           ‘Whofeelsforme?’shesharplyretorted.‘Shehassownthis.

Налаштування
Фон сторінки
Розмір шрифту
Міжрядковий інтервал
Фразові дієслова
Показати / Приховати меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Сторінка 1293 з 1418