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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 637/820
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‘
I
can
spare
no
more
,
’
returned
my
aunt
.
‘
Then
I
can
’
t
go
,
’
said
he
.
‘
Here
!
You
may
take
it
back
!
’
‘
You
bad
man
,
’
returned
my
aunt
,
with
great
emotion
;
‘
how
can
you
use
me
so
?
But
why
do
I
ask
?
It
is
because
you
know
how
weak
I
am
!
What
have
I
to
do
,
to
free
myself
for
ever
of
your
visits
,
but
to
abandon
you
to
your
deserts
?
’
‘
And
why
don
’
t
you
abandon
me
to
my
deserts
?
’
said
he
.
‘
You
ask
me
why
!
’
returned
my
aunt
.
‘
What
a
heart
you
must
have
!
’
He
stood
moodily
rattling
the
money
,
and
shaking
his
head
,
until
at
length
he
said
:
‘
Is
this
all
you
mean
to
give
me
,
then
?
’
‘
It
is
all
I
CAN
give
you
,
’
said
my
aunt
.
‘
You
know
I
have
had
losses
,
and
am
poorer
than
I
used
to
be
.
I
have
told
you
so
.
Having
got
it
,
why
do
you
give
me
the
pain
of
looking
at
you
for
another
moment
,
and
seeing
what
you
have
become
?
’
‘
I
have
become
shabby
enough
,
if
you
mean
that
,
’
he
said
.
‘
I
lead
the
life
of
an
owl
.
’
