Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Change

           

           Betweenheragitation,andhernaturalawkwardnessingettingoutofthecart,Peggottywasmakingamostextraordinaryfestoonofherself,butIfelttooblankandstrangetotellherso.Whenshehadgotdown,shetookmebythehand;ledme,wondering,intothekitchen;andshutthedoor.

           ‘Peggotty!’saidI,quitefrightened.‘What’sthematter?’

           ‘Nothing’sthematter,blessyou,MasterDavydear!’sheanswered,assuminganairofsprightliness.

           ‘Something’sthematter,I’msure.Where’smama?’

           ‘Where’smama,MasterDavy?’repeatedPeggotty.

           ‘Yes.Whyhasn’tshecomeouttothegate,andwhathavewecomeinherefor?Oh,Peggotty!’Myeyeswerefull,andIfeltasifIweregoingtotumbledown.

           ‘Blessthepreciousboy!’criedPeggotty,takingholdofme.‘Whatisit?Speak,mypet!’

           ‘Notdead,too!Oh,she’snotdead,Peggotty?’

           PeggottycriedoutNo!withanastonishingvolumeofvoice;andthensatdown,andbegantopant,andsaidIhadgivenheraturn.

           Igaveherahugtotakeawaytheturn,ortogiveheranotherturnintherightdirection,andthenstoodbeforeher,lookingatherinanxiousinquiry.

           ‘Yousee,dear,Ishouldhavetoldyoubeforenow,’saidPeggotty,‘butIhadn’tanopportunity.

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