Дэвид Копперфильд

Tempest

           Hewascarriedtothenearesthouse;and,noonepreventingmenow,Iremainednearhim,busy,whileeverymeansofrestorationweretried;buthehadbeenbeatentodeathbythegreatwave,andhisgenerousheartwasstilledforever.

           AsIsatbesidethebed,whenhopewasabandonedandallwasdone,afisherman,whohadknownmewhenEmilyandIwerechildren,andeversince,whisperedmynameatthedoor.

           ‘Sir,’saidhe,withtearsstartingtohisweather-beatenface,which,withhistremblinglips,wasashypale,‘willyoucomeoveryonder?’

           Theoldremembrancethathadbeenrecalledtome,wasinhislook.Iaskedhim,terror-stricken,leaningonthearmheheldouttosupportme:

           ‘Hasabodycomeashore?’

           Hesaid,‘Yes.’

           ‘DoIknowit?’Iaskedthen.

           Heanswerednothing.

           Butheledmetotheshore.AndonthatpartofitwheresheandIhadlookedforshells,twochildrenonthatpartofitwheresomelighterfragmentsoftheoldboat,blowndownlastnight,hadbeenscatteredbythewindamongtheruinsofthehomehehadwrongedIsawhimlyingwithhisheaduponhisarm,asIhadoftenseenhimlieatschool.

Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 1285 из 1418