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I Become Neglected, and Am Provided for

           

           AllthistimeIwassoconsciousofthewasteofanypromiseIhadgiven,andofmybeingutterlyneglected,thatIshouldhavebeenperfectlymiserable,Ihavenodoubt,butfortheoldbooks.Theyweremyonlycomfort;andIwasastruetothemastheyweretome,andreadthemoverandoverIdon’tknowhowmanytimesmore.

           Inowapproachaperiodofmylife,whichIcanneverlosetheremembranceof,whileIrememberanything:andtherecollectionofwhichhasoften,withoutmyinvocation,comebeforemelikeaghost,andhauntedhappiertimes.

           Ihadbeenout,oneday,loiteringsomewhere,inthelistless,meditativemannerthatmywayoflifeengendered,when,turningthecornerofalanenearourhouse,IcameuponMr.Murdstonewalkingwithagentleman.Iwasconfused,andwasgoingbythem,whenthegentlemancried:

           ‘What!Brooks!’

           ‘No,sir,DavidCopperfield,’Isaid.

           ‘Don’ttellme.YouareBrooks,’saidthegentleman.‘YouareBrooksofSheffield.That’syourname.’

           Atthesewords,Iobservedthegentlemanmoreattentively.Hislaughcomingtomyremembrancetoo,IknewhimtobeMr.Quinion,whomIhadgoneovertoLowestoftwithMr.Murdstonetosee,before-itisnomatterIneednotrecallwhen.

           ‘Andhowdoyougeton,andwhereareyoubeingeducated,Brooks?’saidMr.Quinion.

           Hehadputhishanduponmyshoulder,andturnedmeabout,towalkwiththem.

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