Дэвид Копперфильд

A Visitor

           

           Wesathimbetweenus,notknowinghowtogivehimwelcomeenough;andasIbegantolistentohisoldfamiliarvoice,Icouldhavefanciedhewasstillpursuinghislongjourneyinsearchofhisdarlingniece.

           ‘It’samortofwater,’saidMr.Peggotty,‘furtocomeacross,andon’ystayamatteroffowerweeks.Butwater(‘speciallywhen’tissalt)comesnat’raltome;andfriendsisdear,andIamheer.Whichisverse,’saidMr.Peggotty,surprisedtofinditout,‘thoughIhadn’tsuchintentions.’

           ‘Areyougoingbackthosemanythousandmiles,sosoon?’askedAgnes.

           ‘Yes,ma’am,’hereturned.‘IgivthepromisetoEm’ly,aforeIcomeaway.Yousee,Idoen’tgrowyoungerastheyearscomesround,andifIhadn’tsailedas‘twas,mostlikeIshouldn’tneverhavedone‘t.Andit’sallusbeenonmymind,asImustcomeandseeMas’rDavyandyourownsweetbloomingself,inyourweddedhappiness,aforeIgottobetooold.’

           Helookedatus,asifhecouldneverfeasthiseyesonussufficiently.Agneslaughinglyputbacksomescatteredlocksofhisgreyhair,thathemightseeusbetter.

           ‘Andnowtellus,’saidI,‘everythingrelatingtoyourfortunes.’

           ‘Ourfortuns,Mas’rDavy,’herejoined,‘issoontold.Wehaven’tfarednohows,butfaredtothrive.We’veallusthrived.

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