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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 144/820
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With
morning
came
Peggotty
;
who
called
to
me
,
as
usual
,
under
my
window
as
if
Mr
.
Barkis
the
carrier
had
been
from
first
to
last
a
dream
too
.
After
breakfast
she
took
me
to
her
own
home
,
and
a
beautiful
little
home
it
was
.
Of
all
the
moveables
in
it
,
I
must
have
been
impressed
by
a
certain
old
bureau
of
some
dark
wood
in
the
parlour
(
the
tile
-
floored
kitchen
was
the
general
sitting
-
room
)
,
with
a
retreating
top
which
opened
,
let
down
,
and
became
a
desk
,
within
which
was
a
large
quarto
edition
of
Foxe
’
s
Book
of
Martyrs
.
This
precious
volume
,
of
which
I
do
not
recollect
one
word
,
I
immediately
discovered
and
immediately
applied
myself
to
;
and
I
never
visited
the
house
afterwards
,
but
I
kneeled
on
a
chair
,
opened
the
casket
where
this
gem
was
enshrined
,
spread
my
arms
over
the
desk
,
and
fell
to
devouring
the
book
afresh
.
I
was
chiefly
edified
,
I
am
afraid
,
by
the
pictures
,
which
were
numerous
,
and
represented
all
kinds
of
dismal
horrors
;
but
the
Martyrs
and
Peggotty
’
s
house
have
been
inseparable
in
my
mind
ever
since
,
and
are
now
.
I
took
leave
of
Mr
.
Peggotty
,
and
Ham
,
and
Mrs
.
Gummidge
,
and
little
Em
’
ly
,
that
day
;
and
passed
the
night
at
Peggotty
’
s
,
in
a
little
room
in
the
roof
(
with
the
Crocodile
Book
on
a
shelf
by
the
bed
’
s
head
)
which
was
to
be
always
mine
,
Peggotty
said
,
and
should
always
be
kept
for
me
in
exactly
the
same
state
.
‘
Young
or
old
,
Davy
dear
,
as
long
as
I
am
alive
and
have
this
house
over
my
head
,
’
said
Peggotty
,
‘
you
shall
find
it
as
if
I
expected
you
here
directly
minute
.
I
shall
keep
it
every
day
,
as
I
used
to
keep
your
old
little
room
,
my
darling
;
and
if
you
was
to
go
to
China
,
you
might
think
of
it
as
being
kept
just
the
same
,
all
the
time
you
were
away
.
’
I
felt
the
truth
and
constancy
of
my
dear
old
nurse
,
with
all
my
heart
,
and
thanked
her
as
well
as
I
could
.
That
was
not
very
well
,
for
she
spoke
to
me
thus
,
with
her
arms
round
my
neck
,
in
the
morning
,
and
I
was
going
home
in
the
morning
,
and
I
went
home
in
the
morning
,
with
herself
and
Mr
.
Barkis
in
the
cart
.
They
left
me
at
the
gate
,
not
easily
or
lightly
;
and
it
was
a
strange
sight
to
me
to
see
the
cart
go
on
,
taking
Peggotty
away
,
and
leaving
me
under
the
old
elm
-
trees
looking
at
the
house
,
in
which
there
was
no
face
to
look
on
mine
with
love
or
liking
any
more
.
And
now
I
fell
into
a
state
of
neglect
,
which
I
cannot
look
back
upon
without
compassion
.
I
fell
at
once
into
a
solitary
condition
,
-
apart
from
all
friendly
notice
,
apart
from
the
society
of
all
other
boys
of
my
own
age
,
apart
from
all
companionship
but
my
own
spiritless
thoughts
,
—
which
seems
to
cast
its
gloom
upon
this
paper
as
I
write
.
What
would
I
have
given
,
to
have
been
sent
to
the
hardest
school
that
ever
was
kept
!
—
to
have
been
taught
something
,
anyhow
,
anywhere
!
No
such
hope
dawned
upon
me
.
They
disliked
me
;
and
they
sullenly
,
sternly
,
steadily
,
overlooked
me
.
I
think
Mr
.
Murdstone
’
s
means
were
straitened
at
about
this
time
;
but
it
is
little
to
the
purpose
.
He
could
not
bear
me
;
and
in
putting
me
from
him
he
tried
,
as
I
believe
,
to
put
away
the
notion
that
I
had
any
claim
upon
him
—
and
succeeded
.
I
was
not
actively
ill
-
used
.
I
was
not
beaten
,
or
starved
;
but
the
wrong
that
was
done
to
me
had
no
intervals
of
relenting
,
and
was
done
in
a
systematic
,
passionless
manner
.
Day
after
day
,
week
after
week
,
month
after
month
,
I
was
coldly
neglected
.
I
wonder
sometimes
,
when
I
think
of
it
,
what
they
would
have
done
if
I
had
been
taken
with
an
illness
;
whether
I
should
have
lain
down
in
my
lonely
room
,
and
languished
through
it
in
my
usual
solitary
way
,
or
whether
anybody
would
have
helped
me
out
.
When
Mr
.
and
Miss
Murdstone
were
at
home
,
I
took
my
meals
with
them
;
in
their
absence
,
I
ate
and
drank
by
myself
.
At
all
times
I
lounged
about
the
house
and
neighbourhood
quite
disregarded
,
except
that
they
were
jealous
of
my
making
any
friends
:
thinking
,
perhaps
,
that
if
I
did
,
I
might
complain
to
someone
.
For
this
reason
,
though
Mr
.
Chillip
often
asked
me
to
go
and
see
him
(
he
was
a
widower
,
having
,
some
years
before
that
,
lost
a
little
small
light
-
haired
wife
,
whom
I
can
just
remember
connecting
in
my
own
thoughts
with
a
pale
tortoise
-
shell
cat
)
,
it
was
but
seldom
that
I
enjoyed
the
happiness
of
passing
an
afternoon
in
his
closet
of
a
surgery
;
reading
some
book
that
was
new
to
me
,
with
the
smell
of
the
whole
Pharmacopoeia
coming
up
my
nose
,
or
pounding
something
in
a
mortar
under
his
mild
directions
.
