Дэвид Копперфильд

Blissful

           Sheoftencarrieditinherhand,oftenrefreshedherselfwithitsfragrance.Oureyesatthosetimesoftenmet;andmygreatastonishmentisthatIdidn’tgoovertheheadofmygallantgreyintothecarriage.

           Therewasdust,Ibelieve.Therewasagooddealofdust,Ibelieve.IhaveafaintimpressionthatMr.Spenlowremonstratedwithmeforridinginit;butIknewofnone.IwassensibleofamistofloveandbeautyaboutDora,butofnothingelse.Hestoodupsometimes,andaskedmewhatIthoughtoftheprospect.Isaiditwasdelightful,andIdaresayitwas;butitwasallDoratome.ThesunshoneDora,andthebirdssangDora.ThesouthwindblewDora,andthewildflowersinthehedgeswereallDoras,toabud.Mycomfortis,MissMillsunderstoodme.MissMillsalonecouldenterintomyfeelingsthoroughly.

           Idon’tknowhowlongweweregoing,andtothishourIknowaslittlewherewewent.PerhapsitwasnearGuildford.PerhapssomeArabian-nightmagician,openeduptheplacefortheday,andshutitupforeverwhenwecameaway.Itwasagreenspot,onahill,carpetedwithsoftturf.Therewereshadytrees,andheather,and,asfarastheeyecouldsee,arichlandscape.

           Itwasatryingthingtofindpeoplehere,waitingforus;andmyjealousy,evenoftheladies,knewnobounds.Butallofmyownsexespeciallyoneimpostor,threeorfouryearsmyelder,witharedwhisker,onwhichheestablishedanamountofpresumptionnottobeenduredweremymortalfoes.

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Roboto Lora
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