Дэвид Копперфильд

The Beginning of a Long Journey

           Hepromisedtocommunicatewithme,whenanythingbefellhim;andheslunghisbagabouthim,tookhishatandstick,andbadeusboth‘Good-bye!’

           ‘Allgoodattendyou,dearoldwoman,’hesaid,embracingPeggotty,‘andyoutoo,Mas’rDavy!’shakinghandswithme.‘I’ma-goingtoseekher,furandwide.IfsheshouldcomehomewhileI’maway—butah,thatain’tliketobe!orifIshouldbringherback,mymeaningis,thatsheandmeshallliveanddiewherenoonecan’treproachher.Ifanyhurtshouldcometome,rememberthatthelastwordsIleftforherwas,“Myunchangedloveiswithmydarlingchild,andIforgiveher!”’

           Hesaidthissolemnly,bare-headed;then,puttingonhishat,hewentdownthestairs,andaway.Wefollowedtothedoor.Itwasawarm,dustyevening,justthetimewhen,inthegreatmainthoroughfareoutofwhichthatby-wayturned,therewasatemporarylullintheeternaltreadoffeetuponthepavement,andastrongredsunshine.Heturned,alone,atthecornerofourshadystreet,intoaglowoflight,inwhichwelosthim.

           Rarelydidthathouroftheeveningcome,rarelydidIwakeatnight,rarelydidIlookupatthemoon,orstars,orwatchthefallingrain,orhearthewind,butIthoughtofhissolitaryfiguretoilingon,poorpilgrim,andrecalledthewords:

           ‘I’magoingtoseekher,furandwide

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