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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 166/820
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‘
Give
me
my
box
and
money
,
will
you
,
’
I
cried
,
bursting
into
tears
.
The
young
man
still
replied
:
‘
Come
to
the
pollis
!
’
and
was
dragging
me
against
the
donkey
in
a
violent
manner
,
as
if
there
were
any
affinity
between
that
animal
and
a
magistrate
,
when
he
changed
his
mind
,
jumped
into
the
cart
,
sat
upon
my
box
,
and
,
exclaiming
that
he
would
drive
to
the
pollis
straight
,
rattled
away
harder
than
ever
.
I
ran
after
him
as
fast
as
I
could
,
but
I
had
no
breath
to
call
out
with
,
and
should
not
have
dared
to
call
out
,
now
,
if
I
had
.
I
narrowly
escaped
being
run
over
,
twenty
times
at
least
,
in
half
a
mile
.
Now
I
lost
him
,
now
I
saw
him
,
now
I
lost
him
,
now
I
was
cut
at
with
a
whip
,
now
shouted
at
,
now
down
in
the
mud
,
now
up
again
,
now
running
into
somebody
’
s
arms
,
now
running
headlong
at
a
post
.
At
length
,
confused
by
fright
and
heat
,
and
doubting
whether
half
London
might
not
by
this
time
be
turning
out
for
my
apprehension
,
I
left
the
young
man
to
go
where
he
would
with
my
box
and
money
;
and
,
panting
and
crying
,
but
never
stopping
,
faced
about
for
Greenwich
,
which
I
had
understood
was
on
the
Dover
Road
:
taking
very
little
more
out
of
the
world
,
towards
the
retreat
of
my
aunt
,
Miss
Betsey
,
than
I
had
brought
into
it
,
on
the
night
when
my
arrival
gave
her
so
much
umbrage
.
For
anything
I
know
,
I
may
have
had
some
wild
idea
of
running
all
the
way
to
Dover
,
when
I
gave
up
the
pursuit
of
the
young
man
with
the
donkey
-
cart
,
and
started
for
Greenwich
.
My
scattered
senses
were
soon
collected
as
to
that
point
,
if
I
had
;
for
I
came
to
a
stop
in
the
Kent
Road
,
at
a
terrace
with
a
piece
of
water
before
it
,
and
a
great
foolish
image
in
the
middle
,
blowing
a
dry
shell
.
Here
I
sat
down
on
a
doorstep
,
quite
spent
and
exhausted
with
the
efforts
I
had
already
made
,
and
with
hardly
breath
enough
to
cry
for
the
loss
of
my
box
and
half
-
guinea
.
It
was
by
this
time
dark
;
I
heard
the
clocks
strike
ten
,
as
I
sat
resting
.
But
it
was
a
summer
night
,
fortunately
,
and
fine
weather
.
When
I
had
recovered
my
breath
,
and
had
got
rid
of
a
stifling
sensation
in
my
throat
,
I
rose
up
and
went
on
.
In
the
midst
of
my
distress
,
I
had
no
notion
of
going
back
.
I
doubt
if
I
should
have
had
any
,
though
there
had
been
a
Swiss
snow
-
drift
in
the
Kent
Road
.
But
my
standing
possessed
of
only
three
-
halfpence
in
the
world
(
and
I
am
sure
I
wonder
how
they
came
to
be
left
in
my
pocket
on
a
Saturday
night
!
)
troubled
me
none
the
less
because
I
went
on
.
I
began
to
picture
to
myself
,
as
a
scrap
of
newspaper
intelligence
,
my
being
found
dead
in
a
day
or
two
,
under
some
hedge
;
and
I
trudged
on
miserably
,
though
as
fast
as
I
could
,
until
I
happened
to
pass
a
little
shop
,
where
it
was
written
up
that
ladies
’
and
gentlemen
’
s
wardrobes
were
bought
,
and
that
the
best
price
was
given
for
rags
,
bones
,
and
kitchen
-
stuff
.
The
master
of
this
shop
was
sitting
at
the
door
in
his
shirt
-
sleeves
,
smoking
;
and
as
there
were
a
great
many
coats
and
pairs
of
trousers
dangling
from
the
low
ceiling
,
and
only
two
feeble
candles
burning
inside
to
show
what
they
were
,
I
fancied
that
he
looked
like
a
man
of
a
revengeful
disposition
,
who
had
hung
all
his
enemies
,
and
was
enjoying
himself
.
My
late
experiences
with
Mr
.
and
Mrs
.
Micawber
suggested
to
me
that
here
might
be
a
means
of
keeping
off
the
wolf
for
a
little
while
.
I
went
up
the
next
by
-
street
,
took
off
my
waistcoat
,
rolled
it
neatly
under
my
arm
,
and
came
back
to
the
shop
door
.
‘
If
you
please
,
sir
,
’
I
said
,
‘
I
am
to
sell
this
for
a
fair
price
.
’
Mr
.
Dolloby
—
Dolloby
was
the
name
over
the
shop
door
,
at
least
—
took
the
waistcoat
,
stood
his
pipe
on
its
head
,
against
the
door
-
post
,
went
into
the
shop
,
followed
by
me
,
snuffed
the
two
candles
with
his
fingers
,
spread
the
waistcoat
on
the
counter
,
and
looked
at
it
there
,
held
it
up
against
the
light
,
and
looked
at
it
there
,
and
ultimately
said
:
