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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 110/820
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It
appeared
to
my
childish
fancy
,
as
I
ascended
to
the
bedroom
where
I
had
been
imprisoned
,
that
they
brought
a
cold
blast
of
air
into
the
house
which
blew
away
the
old
familiar
feeling
like
a
feather
.
I
felt
uncomfortable
about
going
down
to
breakfast
in
the
morning
,
as
I
had
never
set
eyes
on
Mr
.
Murdstone
since
the
day
when
I
committed
my
memorable
offence
.
However
,
as
it
must
be
done
,
I
went
down
,
after
two
or
three
false
starts
half
-
way
,
and
as
many
runs
back
on
tiptoe
to
my
own
room
,
and
presented
myself
in
the
parlour
.
He
was
standing
before
the
fire
with
his
back
to
it
,
while
Miss
Murdstone
made
the
tea
.
He
looked
at
me
steadily
as
I
entered
,
but
made
no
sign
of
recognition
whatever
.
I
went
up
to
him
,
after
a
moment
of
confusion
,
and
said
:
‘
I
beg
your
pardon
,
sir
.
I
am
very
sorry
for
what
I
did
,
and
I
hope
you
will
forgive
me
.
’
‘
I
am
glad
to
hear
you
are
sorry
,
David
,
’
he
replied
.
The
hand
he
gave
me
was
the
hand
I
had
bitten
.
I
could
not
restrain
my
eye
from
resting
for
an
instant
on
a
red
spot
upon
it
;
but
it
was
not
so
red
as
I
turned
,
when
I
met
that
sinister
expression
in
his
face
.
‘
How
do
you
do
,
ma
’
am
?
’
I
said
to
Miss
Murdstone
.
‘
Ah
,
dear
me
!
’
sighed
Miss
Murdstone
,
giving
me
the
tea
-
caddy
scoop
instead
of
her
fingers
.
‘
How
long
are
the
holidays
?
’
‘
A
month
,
ma
’
am
.
’
‘
Counting
from
when
?
’
‘
From
today
,
ma
’
am
.
