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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 665/820
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‘
And
that
,
’
said
Rosa
Dartle
,
‘
is
so
strong
a
claim
,
preferred
by
one
so
infamous
,
that
if
I
had
any
feeling
in
my
breast
but
scorn
and
abhorrence
of
you
,
it
would
freeze
it
up
.
Our
sex
!
You
are
an
honour
to
our
sex
!
’
‘
I
have
deserved
this
,
’
said
Emily
,
‘
but
it
’
s
dreadful
!
Dear
,
dear
lady
,
think
what
I
have
suffered
,
and
how
I
am
fallen
!
Oh
,
Martha
,
come
back
!
Oh
,
home
,
home
!
’
Miss
Dartle
placed
herself
in
a
chair
,
within
view
of
the
door
,
and
looked
downward
,
as
if
Emily
were
crouching
on
the
floor
before
her
.
Being
now
between
me
and
the
light
,
I
could
see
her
curled
lip
,
and
her
cruel
eyes
intently
fixed
on
one
place
,
with
a
greedy
triumph
.
‘
Listen
to
what
I
say
!
’
she
said
;
‘
and
reserve
your
false
arts
for
your
dupes
.
Do
you
hope
to
move
me
by
your
tears
?
No
more
than
you
could
charm
me
by
your
smiles
,
you
purchased
slave
.
’
‘
Oh
,
have
some
mercy
on
me
!
’
cried
Emily
.
‘
Show
me
some
compassion
,
or
I
shall
die
mad
!
’
‘
It
would
be
no
great
penance
,
’
said
Rosa
Dartle
,
‘
for
your
crimes
.
Do
you
know
what
you
have
done
?
Do
you
ever
think
of
the
home
you
have
laid
waste
?
’
‘
Oh
,
is
there
ever
night
or
day
,
when
I
don
’
t
think
of
it
!
’
cried
Emily
;
and
now
I
could
just
see
her
,
on
her
knees
,
with
her
head
thrown
back
,
her
pale
face
looking
upward
,
her
hands
wildly
clasped
and
held
out
,
and
her
hair
streaming
about
her
.
‘
Has
there
ever
been
a
single
minute
,
waking
or
sleeping
,
when
it
hasn
’
t
been
before
me
,
just
as
it
used
to
be
in
the
lost
days
when
I
turned
my
back
upon
it
for
ever
and
for
ever
!
Oh
,
home
,
home
!
Oh
dear
,
dear
uncle
,
if
you
ever
could
have
known
the
agony
your
love
would
cause
me
when
I
fell
away
from
good
,
you
never
would
have
shown
it
to
me
so
constant
,
much
as
you
felt
it
;
but
would
have
been
angry
to
me
,
at
least
once
in
my
life
,
that
I
might
have
had
some
comfort
!
I
have
none
,
none
,
no
comfort
upon
earth
,
for
all
of
them
were
always
fond
of
me
!
’
She
dropped
on
her
face
,
before
the
imperious
figure
in
the
chair
,
with
an
imploring
effort
to
clasp
the
skirt
of
her
dress
.
Rosa
Dartle
sat
looking
down
upon
her
,
as
inflexible
as
a
figure
of
brass
.
Her
lips
were
tightly
compressed
,
as
if
she
knew
that
she
must
keep
a
strong
constraint
upon
herself
—
I
write
what
I
sincerely
believe
—
or
she
would
be
tempted
to
strike
the
beautiful
form
with
her
foot
.
I
saw
her
,
distinctly
,
and
the
whole
power
of
her
face
and
character
seemed
forced
into
that
expression
.
—
Would
he
never
come
?
