Дэвид Копперфильд

Absence

           Imadenoefforttoconcealfrommyself,now,thatIlovedher,thatIwasdevotedtoher;butIbroughttheassurancehometomyself,thatitwasnowtoolate,andthatourlong-subsistingrelationmustbeundisturbed.

           Ihadthought,muchandoften,ofmyDora’sshadowingouttomewhatmighthavehappened,inthoseyearsthatweredestinednottotryus;Ihadconsideredhowthethingsthatneverhappen,areoftenasmuchrealitiestous,intheireffects,asthosethatareaccomplished.Theveryyearsshespokeof,wererealitiesnow,formycorrection;andwouldhavebeen,oneday,alittlelaterperhaps,thoughwehadpartedinourearliestfolly.IendeavouredtoconvertwhatmighthavebeenbetweenmyselfandAgnes,intoameansofmakingmemoreself-denying,moreresolved,moreconsciousofmyself,andmydefectsanderrors.Thus,throughthereflectionthatitmighthavebeen,Iarrivedattheconvictionthatitcouldneverbe.

           These,withtheirperplexitiesandinconsistencies,weretheshiftingquicksandsofmymind,fromthetimeofmydeparturetothetimeofmyreturnhome,threeyearsafterwards.Threeyearshadelapsedsincethesailingoftheemigrantship;when,atthatsamehourofsunset,andinthesameplace,Istoodonthedeckofthepacketvesselthatbroughtmehome,lookingontherosywaterwhereIhadseentheimageofthatshipreflected.

           Threeyears.Longintheaggregate,thoughshortastheywentby

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Roboto Lora
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