-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Дэвид Копперфильд
-
- Стр. 175/820
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
‘
This
is
Miss
Trotwood
’
s
,
’
said
the
young
woman
.
‘
Now
you
know
;
and
that
’
s
all
I
have
got
to
say
.
’
With
which
words
she
hurried
into
the
house
,
as
if
to
shake
off
the
responsibility
of
my
appearance
;
and
left
me
standing
at
the
garden
-
gate
,
looking
disconsolately
over
the
top
of
it
towards
the
parlour
window
,
where
a
muslin
curtain
partly
undrawn
in
the
middle
,
a
large
round
green
screen
or
fan
fastened
on
to
the
windowsill
,
a
small
table
,
and
a
great
chair
,
suggested
to
me
that
my
aunt
might
be
at
that
moment
seated
in
awful
state
.
My
shoes
were
by
this
time
in
a
woeful
condition
.
The
soles
had
shed
themselves
bit
by
bit
,
and
the
upper
leathers
had
broken
and
burst
until
the
very
shape
and
form
of
shoes
had
departed
from
them
.
My
hat
(
which
had
served
me
for
a
night
-
cap
,
too
)
was
so
crushed
and
bent
,
that
no
old
battered
handleless
saucepan
on
a
dunghill
need
have
been
ashamed
to
vie
with
it
.
My
shirt
and
trousers
,
stained
with
heat
,
dew
,
grass
,
and
the
Kentish
soil
on
which
I
had
slept
—
and
torn
besides
—
might
have
frightened
the
birds
from
my
aunt
’
s
garden
,
as
I
stood
at
the
gate
.
My
hair
had
known
no
comb
or
brush
since
I
left
London
.
My
face
,
neck
,
and
hands
,
from
unaccustomed
exposure
to
the
air
and
sun
,
were
burnt
to
a
berry
-
brown
.
From
head
to
foot
I
was
powdered
almost
as
white
with
chalk
and
dust
,
as
if
I
had
come
out
of
a
lime
-
kiln
.
In
this
plight
,
and
with
a
strong
consciousness
of
it
,
I
waited
to
introduce
myself
to
,
and
make
my
first
impression
on
,
my
formidable
aunt
.
The
unbroken
stillness
of
the
parlour
window
leading
me
to
infer
,
after
a
while
,
that
she
was
not
there
,
I
lifted
up
my
eyes
to
the
window
above
it
,
where
I
saw
a
florid
,
pleasant
-
looking
gentleman
,
with
a
grey
head
,
who
shut
up
one
eye
in
a
grotesque
manner
,
nodded
his
head
at
me
several
times
,
shook
it
at
me
as
often
,
laughed
,
and
went
away
.
I
had
been
discomposed
enough
before
;
but
I
was
so
much
the
more
discomposed
by
this
unexpected
behaviour
,
that
I
was
on
the
point
of
slinking
off
,
to
think
how
I
had
best
proceed
,
when
there
came
out
of
the
house
a
lady
with
her
handkerchief
tied
over
her
cap
,
and
a
pair
of
gardening
gloves
on
her
hands
,
wearing
a
gardening
pocket
like
a
toll
-
man
’
s
apron
,
and
carrying
a
great
knife
.
I
knew
her
immediately
to
be
Miss
Betsey
,
for
she
came
stalking
out
of
the
house
exactly
as
my
poor
mother
had
so
often
described
her
stalking
up
our
garden
at
Blunderstone
Rookery
.
‘
Go
away
!
’
said
Miss
Betsey
,
shaking
her
head
,
and
making
a
distant
chop
in
the
air
with
her
knife
.
‘
Go
along
!
No
boys
here
!
’
I
watched
her
,
with
my
heart
at
my
lips
,
as
she
marched
to
a
corner
of
her
garden
,
and
stooped
to
dig
up
some
little
root
there
.
Then
,
without
a
scrap
of
courage
,
but
with
a
great
deal
of
desperation
,
I
went
softly
in
and
stood
beside
her
,
touching
her
with
my
finger
.
‘
If
you
please
,
ma
’
am
,
’
I
began
.
She
started
and
looked
up
.
‘
If
you
please
,
aunt
.
