-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Дэвид Копперфильд
-
- Стр. 41/820
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
‘
Something
’
s
the
matter
,
I
’
m
sure
.
Where
’
s
mama
?
’
‘
Where
’
s
mama
,
Master
Davy
?
’
repeated
Peggotty
.
‘
Yes
.
Why
hasn
’
t
she
come
out
to
the
gate
,
and
what
have
we
come
in
here
for
?
Oh
,
Peggotty
!
’
My
eyes
were
full
,
and
I
felt
as
if
I
were
going
to
tumble
down
.
‘
Bless
the
precious
boy
!
’
cried
Peggotty
,
taking
hold
of
me
.
‘
What
is
it
?
Speak
,
my
pet
!
’
‘
Not
dead
,
too
!
Oh
,
she
’
s
not
dead
,
Peggotty
?
’
Peggotty
cried
out
No
!
with
an
astonishing
volume
of
voice
;
and
then
sat
down
,
and
began
to
pant
,
and
said
I
had
given
her
a
turn
.
I
gave
her
a
hug
to
take
away
the
turn
,
or
to
give
her
another
turn
in
the
right
direction
,
and
then
stood
before
her
,
looking
at
her
in
anxious
inquiry
.
‘
You
see
,
dear
,
I
should
have
told
you
before
now
,
’
said
Peggotty
,
‘
but
I
hadn
’
t
an
opportunity
.
I
ought
to
have
made
it
,
perhaps
,
but
I
couldn
’
t
azackly
’
—
that
was
always
the
substitute
for
exactly
,
in
Peggotty
’
s
militia
of
words
—
‘
bring
my
mind
to
it
.
’
‘
Go
on
,
Peggotty
,
’
said
I
,
more
frightened
than
before
.
