Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Change

           Ioughttohavemadeit,perhaps,butIcouldn’tazackly’—thatwasalwaysthesubstituteforexactly,inPeggotty’smilitiaofwords‘bringmymindtoit.’

           ‘Goon,Peggotty,’saidI,morefrightenedthanbefore.

           ‘MasterDavy,’saidPeggotty,untyingherbonnetwithashakinghand,andspeakinginabreathlesssortofway.‘Whatdoyouthink?YouhavegotaPa!’

           Itrembled,andturnedwhite.Something—Idon’tknowwhat,orhow—connectedwiththegraveinthechurchyard,andtheraisingofthedead,seemedtostrikemelikeanunwholesomewind.

           ‘Anewone,’saidPeggotty.

           ‘Anewone?’Irepeated.

           Peggottygaveagasp,asifshewereswallowingsomethingthatwasveryhard,and,puttingoutherhand,said:

           ‘Comeandseehim.’

           ‘Idon’twanttoseehim.’

           -‘Andyourmama,’saidPeggotty.

           Iceasedtodrawback,andwewentstraighttothebestparlour,wheresheleftme.Ononesideofthefire,satmymother;ontheother,Mr.Murdstone.Mymotherdroppedherwork,andarosehurriedly,buttimidlyIthought.

           ‘Now,Claramydear,’saidMr.Murdstone.‘Recollect!controlyourself,alwayscontrolyourself!Davyboy,howdoyoudo?’

           Igavehimmyhand.Afteramomentofsuspense,Iwentandkissedmymother:shekissedme,pattedmegentlyontheshoulder,andsatdownagaintoherwork

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