Дэвид Копперфильд

Intelligence

           ‘Thatnightwhenitsnewsohard?’

           ‘Thatnight.Ihaveneverseenhersince.Iwentback,afterpartingfromyou,tospeaktoher,butshewasgone.Iwasunwillingtomentionhertoyouthen,andIamnow;butsheisthepersonofwhomIspeak,andwithwhomIthinkweshouldcommunicate.Doyouunderstand?’

           ‘Toowell,sir,’hereplied.Wehadsunkourvoices,almosttoawhisper,andcontinuedtospeakinthattone.

           ‘Yousayyouhaveseenher.Doyouthinkthatyoucouldfindher?Icouldonlyhopetodosobychance.’

           ‘Ithink,Mas’rDavy,Iknowwheertolook.’

           ‘Itisdark.Beingtogether,shallwegooutnow,andtrytofindhertonight?’

           Heassented,andpreparedtoaccompanyme.Withoutappearingtoobservewhathewasdoing,Isawhowcarefullyheadjustedthelittleroom,putacandlereadyandthemeansoflightingit,arrangedthebed,andfinallytookoutofadraweroneofherdresses(Iremembertohaveseenherwearit),neatlyfoldedwithsomeothergarments,andabonnet,whichheplaceduponachair.Hemadenoallusiontotheseclothes,neitherdidI.Theretheyhadbeenwaitingforher,manyandmanyanight,nodoubt.

           ‘Thetimewas,Mas’rDavy,’hesaid,aswecamedownstairs,‘whenIthowtthisgirl,Martha,a’mostlikethedirtunderneathmyEm’ly’sfeet.

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