Дэвид Копперфильд

The Emigrants

           Icouldspeaknomoreatthattime,butIwrunghishand;andifeverIhavelovedandhonouredanyman,Ilovedandhonouredthatmaninmysoul.

           Theshipwasclearingfastofstrangers.ThegreatesttrialthatIhad,remained.Itoldhimwhatthenoblespiritthatwasgone,hadgivenmeinchargetosayatparting.Itmovedhimdeeply.Butwhenhechargedme,inreturn,withmanymessagesofaffectionandregretforthosedeafears,hemovedmemore.

           Thetimewascome.Iembracedhim,tookmyweepingnurseuponmyarm,andhurriedaway.Ondeck,ItookleaveofpoorMrs.Micawber.Shewaslookingdistractedlyaboutforherfamily,eventhen;andherlastwordstomewere,thatsheneverwoulddesertMr.Micawber.

           Wewentoverthesideintoourboat,andlayatalittledistance,toseetheshipwaftedonhercourse.Itwasthencalm,radiantsunset.Shelaybetweenus,andtheredlight;andeverytaperlineandsparwasvisibleagainsttheglow.Asightatoncesobeautiful,somournful,andsohopeful,asthegloriousship,lying,still,ontheflushedwater,withallthelifeonboardhercrowdedatthebulwarks,andthereclustering,foramoment,bare-headedandsilent,Ineversaw.

           Silent,onlyforamoment.Asthesailsrosetothewind,andtheshipbegantomove,therebrokefromalltheboatsthreeresoundingcheers,whichthoseonboardtookup,andechoedback,andwhichwereechoedandre-echoed

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