Дэвид Копперфильд

The Beginning of a Longer Journey

           

           ‘Come,accordingtopromise,tobidfarewellto‘t,eh,Mas’rDavy?’hesaid,takingupthecandle.‘Bareenough,now,an’tit?’‘Indeedyouhavemadegooduseofthetime,’saidI.

           ‘Why,wehavenotbeenidle,sir.MissisGummidgehasworkedlikeaIdoen’tknowwhatMissisGummidgean’tworkedlike,’saidMr.Peggotty,lookingather,atalossforasufficientlyapprovingsimile.

           Mrs.Gummidge,leaningonherbasket,madenoobservation.

           ‘Theer’stheverylockerthatyouusedtositon,‘longwithEm’ly!’saidMr.Peggotty,inawhisper.‘I’ma-goingtocarryitawaywithme,lastofall.Andheer’syouroldlittlebedroom,see,Mas’rDavy!A’mostasbleaktonight,as‘artcouldwish!’

           Intruth,thewind,thoughitwaslow,hadasolemnsound,andcreptaroundthedesertedhousewithawhisperedwailingthatwasverymournful.Everythingwasgone,downtothelittlemirrorwiththeoyster-shellframe.Ithoughtofmyself,lyinghere,whenthatfirstgreatchangewasbeingwroughtathome.Ithoughtoftheblue-eyedchildwhohadenchantedme.IthoughtofSteerforth:andafoolish,fearfulfancycameuponmeofhisbeingnearathand,andliabletobemetatanyturn.

           ‘’Tisliketobelong,’saidMr.Peggotty,inalowvoice,‘aforetheboatfindsnewtenants.

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