Дэвид Копперфильд

I Make Another Beginning

           Iusedtofancy,asIsatbyhimofanevening,onagreenslope,andsawhimwatchthekitehighinthequietair,thatitliftedhismindoutofitsconfusion,andboreit(suchwasmyboyishthought)intotheskies.Ashewoundthestringinanditcamelowerandlowerdownoutofthebeautifullight,untilitflutteredtotheground,andlaytherelikeadeadthing,heseemedtowakegraduallyoutofadream;andIremembertohaveseenhimtakeitup,andlookabouthiminalostway,asiftheyhadbothcomedowntogether,sothatIpitiedhimwithallmyheart.

           WhileIadvancedinfriendshipandintimacywithMr.Dick,Ididnotgobackwardinthefavourofhisstaunchfriend,myaunt.Shetooksokindlytome,that,inthecourseofafewweeks,sheshortenedmyadoptednameofTrotwoodintoTrot;andevenencouragedmetohope,thatifIwentonasIhadbegun,ImighttakeequalrankinheraffectionswithmysisterBetseyTrotwood.

           ‘Trot,’saidmyauntoneevening,whenthebackgammon-boardwasplacedasusualforherselfandMr.Dick,‘wemustnotforgetyoureducation.’

           Thiswasmyonlysubjectofanxiety,andIfeltquitedelightedbyherreferringtoit.

           ‘ShouldyouliketogotoschoolatCanterbury?’saidmyaunt.

           IrepliedthatIshouldlikeitverymuch,asitwassonearher.

           ‘Good,’saidmyaunt.

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