Дэвид Копперфильд

I Fall into Disgrace

           ‘Oh,thankyou!Thankyou!Willyoupromisemeonething,Peggotty?WillyouwriteandtellMr.PeggottyandlittleEm’ly,andMrs.GummidgeandHam,thatIamnotsobadastheymightsuppose,andthatIsent‘emallmylove-especiallytolittleEm’ly?Willyou,ifyouplease,Peggotty?’

           Thekindsoulpromised,andwebothofuskissedthekeyholewiththegreatestaffectionIpatteditwithmyhand,Irecollect,asifithadbeenherhonestfaceandparted.FromthatnighttheregrewupinmybreastafeelingforPeggottywhichIcannotverywelldefine.Shedidnotreplacemymother;noonecoulddothat;butshecameintoavacancyinmyheart,whichcloseduponher,andIfelttowardshersomethingIhaveneverfeltforanyotherhumanbeing.Itwasasortofcomicalaffection,too;andyetifshehaddied,IcannotthinkwhatIshouldhavedone,orhowIshouldhaveactedoutthetragedyitwouldhavebeentome.

           InthemorningMissMurdstoneappearedasusual,andtoldmeIwasgoingtoschool;whichwasnotaltogethersuchnewstomeasshesupposed.ShealsoinformedmethatwhenIwasdressed,Iwastocomedownstairsintotheparlour,andhavemybreakfast.There,Ifoundmymother,verypaleandwithredeyes:intowhosearmsIran,andbeggedherpardonfrommysufferingsoul.

           ‘Oh,Davy!’shesaid.‘ThatyoucouldhurtanyoneIlove!Trytobebetter,praytobebetter!Iforgiveyou;butIamsogrieved,Davy,thatyoushouldhavesuchbadpassionsinyourheart

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