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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 102/820
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‘
Peggotty
.
’
‘
Chrisen
name
?
Or
nat
’
ral
name
?
’
said
Mr
.
Barkis
.
‘
Oh
,
it
’
s
not
her
Christian
name
.
Her
Christian
name
is
Clara
.
’
‘
Is
it
though
?
’
said
Mr
.
Barkis
.
He
seemed
to
find
an
immense
fund
of
reflection
in
this
circumstance
,
and
sat
pondering
and
inwardly
whistling
for
some
time
.
‘
Well
!
’
he
resumed
at
length
.
‘
Says
you
,
“
Peggotty
!
Barkis
is
waitin
’
for
a
answer
.
”
Says
she
,
perhaps
,
“
Answer
to
what
?
”
Says
you
,
“
To
what
I
told
you
.
”
“
What
is
that
?
”
says
she
.
“
Barkis
is
willin
’
,
”
says
you
.
’
This
extremely
artful
suggestion
Mr
.
Barkis
accompanied
with
a
nudge
of
his
elbow
that
gave
me
quite
a
stitch
in
my
side
.
After
that
,
he
slouched
over
his
horse
in
his
usual
manner
;
and
made
no
other
reference
to
the
subject
except
,
half
an
hour
afterwards
,
taking
a
piece
of
chalk
from
his
pocket
,
and
writing
up
,
inside
the
tilt
of
the
cart
,
‘
Clara
Peggotty
’
—
apparently
as
a
private
memorandum
.
Ah
,
what
a
strange
feeling
it
was
to
be
going
home
when
it
was
not
home
,
and
to
find
that
every
object
I
looked
at
,
reminded
me
of
the
happy
old
home
,
which
was
like
a
dream
I
could
never
dream
again
!
The
days
when
my
mother
and
I
and
Peggotty
were
all
in
all
to
one
another
,
and
there
was
no
one
to
come
between
us
,
rose
up
before
me
so
sorrowfully
on
the
road
,
that
I
am
not
sure
I
was
glad
to
be
there
—
not
sure
but
that
I
would
rather
have
remained
away
,
and
forgotten
it
in
Steerforth
’
s
company
.
But
there
I
was
;
and
soon
I
was
at
our
house
,
where
the
bare
old
elm
-
trees
wrung
their
many
hands
in
the
bleak
wintry
air
,
and
shreds
of
the
old
rooks
’
-
nests
drifted
away
upon
the
wind
.
