Дэвид Копперфильд

I Visit Steerforth at His Home, Again

           

           Rosadidnotcomeback;andnoothermentionwasmadeofher,untilIwentwithSteerforthintohisroomtosayGoodnight.Thenhelaughedabouther,andaskedmeifIhadeverseensuchafiercelittlepieceofincomprehensibility.

           Iexpressedasmuchofmyastonishmentaswasthencapableofexpression,andaskedifhecouldguesswhatitwasthatshehadtakensomuchamiss,sosuddenly.

           ‘Oh,Heavenknows,’saidSteerforth.‘Anythingyoulikeornothing!Itoldyoushetookeverything,herselfincluded,toagrindstone,andsharpenedit.Sheisanedge-tool,andrequiresgreatcareindealingwith.Sheisalwaysdangerous.Goodnight!’

           ‘Goodnight!’saidI,‘mydearSteerforth!Ishallbegonebeforeyouwakeinthemorning.Goodnight!’

           Hewasunwillingtoletmego;andstood,holdingmeout,withahandoneachofmyshoulders,ashehaddoneinmyownroom.

           ‘Daisy,’hesaid,withasmile‘forthoughthat’snotthenameyourgodfathersandgodmothersgaveyou,it’sthenameIlikebesttocallyoubyandIwish,Iwish,Iwish,youcouldgiveittome!’

           ‘WhysoIcan,ifIchoose,’saidI.

           ‘Daisy,ifanythingshouldeverseparateus,youmustthinkofmeatmybest,oldboy.Come!Letusmakethatbargain.Thinkofmeatmybest,ifcircumstancesshouldeverpartus!’

           ‘Youhavenobesttome,Steerforth,’saidI,‘andnoworst

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