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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 118/820
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‘
David
Copperfield
,
’
said
Mrs
.
Creakle
,
leading
me
to
a
sofa
,
and
sitting
down
beside
me
.
‘
I
want
to
speak
to
you
very
particularly
.
I
have
something
to
tell
you
,
my
child
.
’
Mr
.
Creakle
,
at
whom
of
course
I
looked
,
shook
his
head
without
looking
at
me
,
and
stopped
up
a
sigh
with
a
very
large
piece
of
buttered
toast
.
‘
You
are
too
young
to
know
how
the
world
changes
every
day
,
’
said
Mrs
.
Creakle
,
‘
and
how
the
people
in
it
pass
away
.
But
we
all
have
to
learn
it
,
David
;
some
of
us
when
we
are
young
,
some
of
us
when
we
are
old
,
some
of
us
at
all
times
of
our
lives
.
’
I
looked
at
her
earnestly
.
‘
When
you
came
away
from
home
at
the
end
of
the
vacation
,
’
said
Mrs
.
Creakle
,
after
a
pause
,
‘
were
they
all
well
?
’
After
another
pause
,
‘
Was
your
mama
well
?
’
I
trembled
without
distinctly
knowing
why
,
and
still
looked
at
her
earnestly
,
making
no
attempt
to
answer
.
‘
Because
,
’
said
she
,
‘
I
grieve
to
tell
you
that
I
hear
this
morning
your
mama
is
very
ill
.
’
A
mist
rose
between
Mrs
.
Creakle
and
me
,
and
her
figure
seemed
to
move
in
it
for
an
instant
.
Then
I
felt
the
burning
tears
run
down
my
face
,
and
it
was
steady
again
.
‘
She
is
very
dangerously
ill
,
’
she
added
.
