Дэвид Копперфильд

Another Retrospect

           ‘Evenpoor,giddy,stupidme?’

           ‘Myheart,whoisthereuponearththatIcouldmisssomuch?’

           ‘Oh,husband!Iamsoglad,yetsosorry!’creepingclosertome,andfoldingmeinbothherarms.Shelaughsandsobs,andthenisquiet,andquitehappy.

           ‘Quite!’shesays.‘OnlygiveAgnesmydearlove,andtellherthatIwantvery,very,muchtoseeher;andIhavenothinglefttowishfor.’

           ‘Excepttogetwellagain,Dora.’

           ‘Ah,Doady!SometimesIthinkyouknowIalwayswasasillylittlething!thatthatwillneverbe!’

           ‘Don’tsayso,Dora!Dearestlove,don’tthinkso!’

           ‘Iwon’t,ifIcanhelpit,Doady.ButIamveryhappy;thoughmydearboyissolonelybyhimself,beforehischild-wife’semptychair!’

           Itisnight;andIamwithherstill.Agneshasarrived;hasbeenamongusforawholedayandanevening.She,myaunt,andI,havesatwithDorasincethemorning,alltogether.Wehavenottalkedmuch,butDorahasbeenperfectlycontentedandcheerful.Wearenowalone.

           DoIknow,now,thatmychild-wifewillsoonleaveme?Theyhavetoldmeso;theyhavetoldmenothingnewtomythoughts-butIamfarfromsurethatIhavetakenthattruthtoheart.Icannotmasterit.Ihavewithdrawnbymyself,manytimestoday,toweep.IhaverememberedWhoweptforapartingbetweenthelivingandthedead.

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