-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Дэвид Копперфильд
-
- Стр. 638/820
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
‘
You
stripped
me
of
the
greater
part
of
all
I
ever
had
,
’
said
my
aunt
.
‘
You
closed
my
heart
against
the
whole
world
,
years
and
years
.
You
treated
me
falsely
,
ungratefully
,
and
cruelly
.
Go
,
and
repent
of
it
.
Don
’
t
add
new
injuries
to
the
long
,
long
list
of
injuries
you
have
done
me
!
’
‘
Aye
!
’
he
returned
.
‘
It
’
s
all
very
fine
—
Well
!
I
must
do
the
best
I
can
,
for
the
present
,
I
suppose
.
’
In
spite
of
himself
,
he
appeared
abashed
by
my
aunt
’
s
indignant
tears
,
and
came
slouching
out
of
the
garden
.
Taking
two
or
three
quick
steps
,
as
if
I
had
just
come
up
,
I
met
him
at
the
gate
,
and
went
in
as
he
came
out
.
We
eyed
one
another
narrowly
in
passing
,
and
with
no
favour
.
‘
Aunt
,
’
said
I
,
hurriedly
.
‘
This
man
alarming
you
again
!
Let
me
speak
to
him
.
Who
is
he
?
’
‘
Child
,
’
returned
my
aunt
,
taking
my
arm
,
‘
come
in
,
and
don
’
t
speak
to
me
for
ten
minutes
.
’
We
sat
down
in
her
little
parlour
.
My
aunt
retired
behind
the
round
green
fan
of
former
days
,
which
was
screwed
on
the
back
of
a
chair
,
and
occasionally
wiped
her
eyes
,
for
about
a
quarter
of
an
hour
.
Then
she
came
out
,
and
took
a
seat
beside
me
.
‘
Trot
,
’
said
my
aunt
,
calmly
,
‘
it
’
s
my
husband
.
’
‘
Your
husband
,
aunt
?
I
thought
he
had
been
dead
!
’
‘
Dead
to
me
,
’
returned
my
aunt
,
‘
but
living
.
’
