Дэвид Копперфильд

The Beginning of a Longer Journey

           SoIwritaletterwhileIwasout,andputitinthepost-office,tellingof‘emhowallwasas’tis;andthatIshouldcomedowntomorrowtounloadmymindofwhatlittleneedsa-doingofdowntheer,and,most-like,takemyfarewellleaveofYarmouth.’

           ‘Anddoyouwishmetogowithyou?’saidI,seeingthatheleftsomethingunsaid.

           ‘Ifyoucoulddomethatkindfavour,Mas’rDavy,’hereplied.‘Iknowthesightonyouwouldcheer‘emupabit.’

           MylittleDorabeingingoodspirits,andverydesirousthatIshouldgo—asIfoundontalkingitoverwithherIreadilypledgedmyselftoaccompanyhiminaccordancewithhiswish.Nextmorning,consequently,wewereontheYarmouthcoach,andagaintravellingovertheoldground.

           Aswepassedalongthefamiliarstreetatnight—Mr.Peggotty,indespiteofallmyremonstrances,carryingmybagIglancedintoOmerandJoram’sshop,andsawmyoldfriendMr.Omerthere,smokinghispipe.Ifeltreluctanttobepresent,whenMr.PeggottyfirstmethissisterandHam;andmadeMr.Omermyexcuseforlingeringbehind.

           ‘HowisMr.Omer,afterthislongtime?’saidI,goingin.

           Hefannedawaythesmokeofhispipe,thathemightgetabetterviewofme,andsoonrecognizedmewithgreatdelight.

           ‘Ishouldgetup,sir,toacknowledgesuchanhonourasthisvisit,’saidhe,‘onlymylimbsareratheroutofsorts,andIamwheeledabout.

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