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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 58/820
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‘
Tomorrow
.
’
‘
Is
that
the
reason
why
Miss
Murdstone
took
the
clothes
out
of
my
drawers
?
’
which
she
had
done
,
though
I
have
forgotten
to
mention
it
.
‘
Yes
,
’
said
Peggotty
.
‘
Box
.
’
‘
Shan
’
t
I
see
mama
?
’
‘
Yes
,
’
said
Peggotty
.
‘
Morning
.
’
Then
Peggotty
fitted
her
mouth
close
to
the
keyhole
,
and
delivered
these
words
through
it
with
as
much
feeling
and
earnestness
as
a
keyhole
has
ever
been
the
medium
of
communicating
,
I
will
venture
to
assert
:
shooting
in
each
broken
little
sentence
in
a
convulsive
little
burst
of
its
own
.
‘
Davy
,
dear
.
If
I
ain
’
t
been
azackly
as
intimate
with
you
.
Lately
,
as
I
used
to
be
.
It
ain
’
t
because
I
don
’
t
love
you
.
just
as
well
and
more
,
my
pretty
poppet
.
It
’
s
because
I
thought
it
better
for
you
.
And
for
someone
else
besides
.
Davy
,
my
darling
,
are
you
listening
?
Can
you
hear
?
’
‘
Ye
-
ye
-
ye
-
yes
,
Peggotty
!
’
I
sobbed
.
‘
My
own
!
’
said
Peggotty
,
with
infinite
compassion
.
‘
What
I
want
to
say
,
is
.
That
you
must
never
forget
me
.
For
I
’
ll
never
forget
you
.
And
I
’
ll
take
as
much
care
of
your
mama
,
Davy
.
As
ever
I
took
of
you
.
And
I
won
’
t
leave
her
.
The
day
may
come
when
she
’
ll
be
glad
to
lay
her
poor
head
.
On
her
stupid
,
cross
old
Peggotty
’
s
arm
again
.
And
I
’
ll
write
to
you
,
my
dear
.
Though
I
ain
’
t
no
scholar
.
And
I
’
ll
—
I
’
ll
—
—
’
Peggotty
fell
to
kissing
the
keyhole
,
as
she
couldn
’
t
kiss
me
.
