Девід Копперфільд

Liking Life on My Own Account No Better, I Form a Great Resolution

           

           ‘Cometothepollis!’saidtheyoungman.‘Youshallproveityourntothepollis.’

           ‘Givememyboxandmoney,willyou,’Icried,burstingintotears.

           Theyoungmanstillreplied:‘Cometothepollis!’andwasdraggingmeagainstthedonkeyinaviolentmanner,asiftherewereanyaffinitybetweenthatanimalandamagistrate,whenhechangedhismind,jumpedintothecart,satuponmybox,and,exclaimingthathewoulddrivetothepollisstraight,rattledawayharderthanever.

           IranafterhimasfastasIcould,butIhadnobreathtocalloutwith,andshouldnothavedaredtocallout,now,ifIhad.Inarrowlyescapedbeingrunover,twentytimesatleast,inhalfamile.NowIlosthim,nowIsawhim,nowIlosthim,nowIwascutatwithawhip,nowshoutedat,nowdowninthemud,nowupagain,nowrunningintosomebody’sarms,nowrunningheadlongatapost.Atlength,confusedbyfrightandheat,anddoubtingwhetherhalfLondonmightnotbythistimebeturningoutformyapprehension,Ilefttheyoungmantogowherehewouldwithmyboxandmoney;and,pantingandcrying,butneverstopping,facedaboutforGreenwich,whichIhadunderstoodwasontheDoverRoad:takingverylittlemoreoutoftheworld,towardstheretreatofmyaunt,MissBetsey,thanIhadbroughtintoit,onthenightwhenmyarrivalgavehersomuchumbrage.

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Roboto Lora
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