Дэвид Копперфильд

The Beginning of a Longer Journey

           

           Ipressedhismanlyhandagain,andtoldhimIwouldchargemyselftodothisaswellasIcould.

           ‘Ithankee,sir,’heanswered.‘‘Twaskindofyoutomeetme.‘Twaskindofyoutobearhimcompanydown.Mas’rDavy,Iunnerstan’verywell,thoughmyauntwillcometoLon’onaforetheysail,andthey’lluniteoncemore,thatIamnotliketoseehimagen.Ifaretofeelsureon’t.Wedoen’tsayso,butso‘twillbe,andbetterso.Thelastyouseeonhimtheverylastwillyougivehimthelovingestdutyandthanksoftheorphan,ashewasevermorethanafatherto?’

           ThisIalsopromised,faithfully.

           ‘Ithankeeagen,sir,’hesaid,heartilyshakinghands.‘Iknowwheeryou’rea-going.Good-bye!’

           Withaslightwaveofhishand,asthoughtoexplaintomethathecouldnotentertheoldplace,heturnedaway.AsIlookedafterhisfigure,crossingthewasteinthemoonlight,Isawhimturnhisfacetowardsastripofsilverylightuponthesea,andpasson,lookingatit,untilhewasashadowinthedistance.

           Thedooroftheboat-housestoodopenwhenIapproached;and,onentering,Ifounditemptiedofallitsfurniture,savingoneoftheoldlockers,onwhichMrs.Gummidge,withabasketonherknee,wasseated,lookingatMr.Peggotty.Heleanedhiselbowontheroughchimney-piece,andgazeduponafewexpiringembersinthegrate;butheraisedhishead,hopefully,onmycomingin,andspokeinacheerymanner.

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