Дэвид Копперфильд

My First Dissipation

           

           Howsomebody,lyinginmybed,laysayinganddoingallthisoveragain,atcrosspurposes,inafeverishdreamallnight—thebedarockingseathatwasneverstill!How,asthatsomebodyslowlysettleddownintomyself,didIbegintoparch,andfeelasifmyoutercoveringofskinwereahardboard;mytonguethebottomofanemptykettle,furredwithlongservice,andburningupoveraslowfire;thepalmsofmyhands,hotplatesofmetalwhichnoicecouldcool!

           Buttheagonyofmind,theremorse,andshameIfeltwhenIbecameconsciousnextday!MyhorrorofhavingcommittedathousandoffencesIhadforgotten,andwhichnothingcouldeverexpiate—myrecollectionofthatindeliblelookwhichAgneshadgivenme—thetorturingimpossibilityofcommunicatingwithher,notknowing,BeastthatIwas,howshecametobeinLondon,orwhereshestayed-mydisgustoftheverysightoftheroomwheretherevelhadbeenheldmyrackinghead—thesmellofsmoke,thesightofglasses,theimpossibilityofgoingout,orevengettingup!Oh,whatadayitwas!

           Oh,whatanevening,whenIsatdownbymyfiretoabasinofmuttonbroth,dimpledalloverwithfat,andthoughtIwasgoingthewayofmypredecessor,andshouldsucceedtohisdismalstoryaswellastohischambers,andhadhalfamindtorushexpresstoDoverandrevealall!Whatanevening,whenMrs

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