Дэвид Копперфильд

A Little Cold Water

           Ifelluponmykneesbeforethesofa,caressingher,andimploringhernottorendmyheart;but,forsometime,poorlittleDoradidnothingbutexclaimOhdear!Ohdear!Andoh,shewassofrightened!AndwherewasJuliaMills!Andoh,takehertoJuliaMills,andgoaway,please!untilIwasalmostbesidemyself.

           Atlast,afteranagonyofsupplicationandprotestation,IgotDoratolookatme,withahorrifiedexpressionofface,whichIgraduallysootheduntilitwasonlyloving,andhersoft,prettycheekwaslyingagainstmine.ThenItoldher,withmyarmsclaspedroundher,howIlovedher,sodearly,andsodearly;howIfeltitrighttooffertoreleaseherfromherengagement,becausenowIwaspoor;howInevercouldbearit,orrecoverit,ifIlosther;howIhadnofearsofpoverty,ifshehadnone,myarmbeingnervedandmyheartinspiredbyher;howIwasalreadyworkingwithacouragesuchasnonebutloversknew;howIhadbeguntobepractical,andlookintothefuture;howacrustwellearnedwassweeterfarthanafeastinherited;andmuchmoretothesamepurpose,whichIdeliveredinaburstofpassionateeloquencequitesurprisingtomyself,thoughIhadbeenthinkingaboutit,dayandnight,eversincemyaunthadastonishedme.

           ‘Isyourheartminestill,dearDora?’saidI,rapturously,forIknewbyherclingingtomethatitwas.

           ‘Oh,yes!’criedDora.‘Oh,yes,it’sallyours.

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