Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Peggotty’s Dream Comes True

           HemadehiswaybyseatoNaples,andback,afterhearingthenarrativetowhichMissDartlehadassistedme.Allhisjourneyswereruggedlyperformed;forhewasalwayssteadfastinapurposeofsavingmoneyforEmily’ssake,whensheshouldbefound.Inallthislongpursuit,Ineverheardhimrepine;Ineverheardhimsayhewasfatigued,oroutofheart.

           Dorahadoftenseenhimsinceourmarriage,andwasquitefondofhim.Ifancyhisfigurebeforemenow,standingnearhersofa,withhisroughcapinhishand,andtheblueeyesofmychild-wiferaised,withatimidwonder,tohisface.Sometimesofanevening,abouttwilight,whenhecametotalkwithme,Iwouldinducehimtosmokehispipeinthegarden,asweslowlypacedtoandfrotogether;andthen,thepictureofhisdesertedhome,andthecomfortableairitusedtohaveinmychildisheyesofaneveningwhenthefirewasburning,andthewindmoaningroundit,camemostvividlyintomymind.

           Oneevening,atthishour,hetoldmethathehadfoundMarthawaitingnearhislodgingontheprecedingnightwhenhecameout,andthatshehadaskedhimnottoleaveLondononanyaccount,untilheshouldhaveseenheragain.

           ‘Didshetellyouwhy?’Iinquired.

           ‘Iaskedher,Mas’rDavy,’hereplied,‘butitisbutfewwordsassheeversays,andsheon’ygotmypromiseandsowentaway.’

           ‘Didshesaywhenyoumightexpecttoseeheragain?’Idemanded.

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