Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Peggotty’s Dream Comes True

           

           Wouldhenever,nevercome?HowlongwasItobearthis?HowlongcouldIbearit?‘Ohme,ohme!’exclaimedthewretchedEmily,inatonethatmighthavetouchedthehardestheart,Ishouldhavethought;buttherewasnorelentinginRosaDartle’ssmile.‘What,what,shallIdo!’

           ‘Do?’returnedtheother.‘Livehappyinyourownreflections!ConsecrateyourexistencetotherecollectionofJamesSteerforth’stendernesshewouldhavemadeyouhisserving-man’swife,wouldhenot?ortofeelinggratefultotheuprightanddeservingcreaturewhowouldhavetakenyouashisgift.Or,ifthoseproudremembrances,andtheconsciousnessofyourownvirtues,andthehonourablepositiontowhichtheyhaveraisedyouintheeyesofeverythingthatwearsthehumanshape,willnotsustainyou,marrythatgoodman,andbehappyinhiscondescension.Ifthiswillnotdoeither,die!Therearedoorwaysanddust-heapsforsuchdeaths,andsuchdespairfindone,andtakeyourflighttoHeaven!’

           Iheardadistantfootuponthestairs.Iknewit,Iwascertain.Itwashis,thankGod!

           Shemovedslowlyfrombeforethedoorwhenshesaidthis,andpassedoutofmysight.

           ‘Butmark!’sheadded,slowlyandsternly,openingtheotherdoortogoaway,‘Iamresolved,forreasonsthatIhaveandhatredsthatIentertain,tocastyouout,unlessyouwithdrawfrommyreachaltogether,ordropyourprettymask

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