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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 127/820
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I
remark
this
,
because
I
remark
everything
that
happens
,
not
because
I
care
about
myself
,
or
have
done
since
I
came
home
.
And
now
the
bell
begins
to
sound
,
and
Mr
.
Omer
and
another
come
to
make
us
ready
.
As
Peggotty
was
wont
to
tell
me
,
long
ago
,
the
followers
of
my
father
to
the
same
grave
were
made
ready
in
the
same
room
.
There
are
Mr
.
Murdstone
,
our
neighbour
Mr
.
Grayper
,
Mr
.
Chillip
,
and
I
.
When
we
go
out
to
the
door
,
the
Bearers
and
their
load
are
in
the
garden
;
and
they
move
before
us
down
the
path
,
and
past
the
elms
,
and
through
the
gate
,
and
into
the
churchyard
,
where
I
have
so
often
heard
the
birds
sing
on
a
summer
morning
.
We
stand
around
the
grave
.
The
day
seems
different
to
me
from
every
other
day
,
and
the
light
not
of
the
same
colour
—
of
a
sadder
colour
.
Now
there
is
a
solemn
hush
,
which
we
have
brought
from
home
with
what
is
resting
in
the
mould
;
and
while
we
stand
bareheaded
,
I
hear
the
voice
of
the
clergyman
,
sounding
remote
in
the
open
air
,
and
yet
distinct
and
plain
,
saying
:
‘
I
am
the
Resurrection
and
the
Life
,
saith
the
Lord
!
’
Then
I
hear
sobs
;
and
,
standing
apart
among
the
lookers
-
on
,
I
see
that
good
and
faithful
servant
,
whom
of
all
the
people
upon
earth
I
love
the
best
,
and
unto
whom
my
childish
heart
is
certain
that
the
Lord
will
one
day
say
:
‘
Well
done
.
’
There
are
many
faces
that
I
know
,
among
the
little
crowd
;
faces
that
I
knew
in
church
,
when
mine
was
always
wondering
there
;
faces
that
first
saw
my
mother
,
when
she
came
to
the
village
in
her
youthful
bloom
.
I
do
not
mind
them
—
I
mind
nothing
but
my
grief
-
and
yet
I
see
and
know
them
all
;
and
even
in
the
background
,
far
away
,
see
Minnie
looking
on
,
and
her
eye
glancing
on
her
sweetheart
,
who
is
near
me
.
It
is
over
,
and
the
earth
is
filled
in
,
and
we
turn
to
come
away
.
Before
us
stands
our
house
,
so
pretty
and
unchanged
,
so
linked
in
my
mind
with
the
young
idea
of
what
is
gone
,
that
all
my
sorrow
has
been
nothing
to
the
sorrow
it
calls
forth
.
But
they
take
me
on
;
and
Mr
.
Chillip
talks
to
me
;
and
when
we
get
home
,
puts
some
water
to
my
lips
;
and
when
I
ask
his
leave
to
go
up
to
my
room
,
dismisses
me
with
the
gentleness
of
a
woman
.
All
this
,
I
say
,
is
yesterday
’
s
event
.
Events
of
later
date
have
floated
from
me
to
the
shore
where
all
forgotten
things
will
reappear
,
but
this
stands
like
a
high
rock
in
the
ocean
.
I
knew
that
Peggotty
would
come
to
me
in
my
room
.
The
Sabbath
stillness
of
the
time
(
the
day
was
so
like
Sunday
!
I
have
forgotten
that
)
was
suited
to
us
both
.
She
sat
down
by
my
side
upon
my
little
bed
;
and
holding
my
hand
,
and
sometimes
putting
it
to
her
lips
,
and
sometimes
smoothing
it
with
hers
,
as
she
might
have
comforted
my
little
brother
,
told
me
,
in
her
way
,
all
that
she
had
to
tell
concerning
what
had
happened
.
‘
She
was
never
well
,
’
said
Peggotty
,
‘
for
a
long
time
.
She
was
uncertain
in
her
mind
,
and
not
happy
.
When
her
baby
was
born
,
I
thought
at
first
she
would
get
better
,
but
she
was
more
delicate
,
and
sunk
a
little
every
day
.
