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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 70/820
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We
had
started
from
Yarmouth
at
three
o
’
clock
in
the
afternoon
,
and
we
were
due
in
London
about
eight
next
morning
.
It
was
Mid
-
summer
weather
,
and
the
evening
was
very
pleasant
.
When
we
passed
through
a
village
,
I
pictured
to
myself
what
the
insides
of
the
houses
were
like
,
and
what
the
inhabitants
were
about
;
and
when
boys
came
running
after
us
,
and
got
up
behind
and
swung
there
for
a
little
way
,
I
wondered
whether
their
fathers
were
alive
,
and
whether
they
Were
happy
at
home
.
I
had
plenty
to
think
of
,
therefore
,
besides
my
mind
running
continually
on
the
kind
of
place
I
was
going
to
—
which
was
an
awful
speculation
.
Sometimes
,
I
remember
,
I
resigned
myself
to
thoughts
of
home
and
Peggotty
;
and
to
endeavouring
,
in
a
confused
blind
way
,
to
recall
how
I
had
felt
,
and
what
sort
of
boy
I
used
to
be
,
before
I
bit
Mr
.
Murdstone
:
which
I
couldn
’
t
satisfy
myself
about
by
any
means
,
I
seemed
to
have
bitten
him
in
such
a
remote
antiquity
.
The
night
was
not
so
pleasant
as
the
evening
,
for
it
got
chilly
;
and
being
put
between
two
gentlemen
(
the
rough
-
faced
one
and
another
)
to
prevent
my
tumbling
off
the
coach
,
I
was
nearly
smothered
by
their
falling
asleep
,
and
completely
blocking
me
up
.
They
squeezed
me
so
hard
sometimes
,
that
I
could
not
help
crying
out
,
‘
Oh
!
If
you
please
!
’
—
which
they
didn
’
t
like
at
all
,
because
it
woke
them
.
Opposite
me
was
an
elderly
lady
in
a
great
fur
cloak
,
who
looked
in
the
dark
more
like
a
haystack
than
a
lady
,
she
was
wrapped
up
to
such
a
degree
.
This
lady
had
a
basket
with
her
,
and
she
hadn
’
t
known
what
to
do
with
it
,
for
a
long
time
,
until
she
found
that
on
account
of
my
legs
being
short
,
it
could
go
underneath
me
.
It
cramped
and
hurt
me
so
,
that
it
made
me
perfectly
miserable
;
but
if
I
moved
in
the
least
,
and
made
a
glass
that
was
in
the
basket
rattle
against
something
else
(
as
it
was
sure
to
do
)
,
she
gave
me
the
cruellest
poke
with
her
foot
,
and
said
,
‘
Come
,
don
’
t
YOU
fidget
.
YOUR
bones
are
young
enough
,
I
’
m
sure
!
’
At
last
the
sun
rose
,
and
then
my
companions
seemed
to
sleep
easier
.
The
difficulties
under
which
they
had
laboured
all
night
,
and
which
had
found
utterance
in
the
most
terrific
gasps
and
snorts
,
are
not
to
be
conceived
.
As
the
sun
got
higher
,
their
sleep
became
lighter
,
and
so
they
gradually
one
by
one
awoke
.
I
recollect
being
very
much
surprised
by
the
feint
everybody
made
,
then
,
of
not
having
been
to
sleep
at
all
,
and
by
the
uncommon
indignation
with
which
everyone
repelled
the
charge
.
I
labour
under
the
same
kind
of
astonishment
to
this
day
,
having
invariably
observed
that
of
all
human
weaknesses
,
the
one
to
which
our
common
nature
is
the
least
disposed
to
confess
(
I
cannot
imagine
why
)
is
the
weakness
of
having
gone
to
sleep
in
a
coach
.
What
an
amazing
place
London
was
to
me
when
I
saw
it
in
the
distance
,
and
how
I
believed
all
the
adventures
of
all
my
favourite
heroes
to
be
constantly
enacting
and
re
-
enacting
there
,
and
how
I
vaguely
made
it
out
in
my
own
mind
to
be
fuller
of
wonders
and
wickedness
than
all
the
cities
of
the
earth
,
I
need
not
stop
here
to
relate
.
We
approached
it
by
degrees
,
and
got
,
in
due
time
,
to
the
inn
in
the
Whitechapel
district
,
for
which
we
were
bound
.
I
forget
whether
it
was
the
Blue
Bull
,
or
the
Blue
Boar
;
but
I
know
it
was
the
Blue
Something
,
and
that
its
likeness
was
painted
up
on
the
back
of
the
coach
.
The
guard
’
s
eye
lighted
on
me
as
he
was
getting
down
,
and
he
said
at
the
booking
-
office
door
:
‘
Is
there
anybody
here
for
a
yoongster
booked
in
the
name
of
Murdstone
,
from
Bloonderstone
,
Sooffolk
,
to
be
left
till
called
for
?
’
Nobody
answered
.
‘
Try
Copperfield
,
if
you
please
,
sir
,
’
said
I
,
looking
helplessly
down
.
‘
Is
there
anybody
here
for
a
yoongster
,
booked
in
the
name
of
Murdstone
,
from
Bloonderstone
,
Sooffolk
,
but
owning
to
the
name
of
Copperfield
,
to
be
left
till
called
for
?
’
said
the
guard
.
‘
Come
!
IS
there
anybody
?
’
