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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 708/820
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Shall
I
ever
forget
how
,
in
a
moment
,
he
was
the
most
sanguine
of
men
,
looking
on
to
fortune
;
or
how
Mrs
.
Micawber
presently
discoursed
about
the
habits
of
the
kangaroo
!
Shall
I
ever
recall
that
street
of
Canterbury
on
a
market
-
day
,
without
recalling
him
,
as
he
walked
back
with
us
;
expressing
,
in
the
hardy
roving
manner
he
assumed
,
the
unsettled
habits
of
a
temporary
sojourner
in
the
land
;
and
looking
at
the
bullocks
,
as
they
came
by
,
with
the
eye
of
an
Australian
farmer
!
Imust
pause
yet
once
again
.
O
,
my
child
-
wife
,
there
is
a
figure
in
the
moving
crowd
before
my
memory
,
quiet
and
still
,
saying
in
its
innocent
love
and
childish
beauty
,
Stop
to
think
of
me
—
turn
to
look
upon
the
Little
Blossom
,
as
it
flutters
to
the
ground
!
I
do
.
All
else
grows
dim
,
and
fades
away
.
I
am
again
with
Dora
,
in
our
cottage
.
I
do
not
know
how
long
she
has
been
ill
.
I
am
so
used
to
it
in
feeling
,
that
I
cannot
count
the
time
.
It
is
not
really
long
,
in
weeks
or
months
;
but
,
in
my
usage
and
experience
,
it
is
a
weary
,
weary
while
.
They
have
left
off
telling
me
to
‘
wait
a
few
days
more
’
.
I
have
begun
to
fear
,
remotely
,
that
the
day
may
never
shine
,
when
I
shall
see
my
child
-
wife
running
in
the
sunlight
with
her
old
friend
Jip
.
He
is
,
as
it
were
suddenly
,
grown
very
old
.
It
may
be
that
he
misses
in
his
mistress
,
something
that
enlivened
him
and
made
him
younger
;
but
he
mopes
,
and
his
sight
is
weak
,
and
his
limbs
are
feeble
,
and
my
aunt
is
sorry
that
he
objects
to
her
no
more
,
but
creeps
near
her
as
he
lies
on
Dora
’
s
bed
—
she
sitting
at
the
bedside
—
and
mildly
licks
her
hand
.
Dora
lies
smiling
on
us
,
and
is
beautiful
,
and
utters
no
hasty
or
complaining
word
.
She
says
that
we
are
very
good
to
her
;
that
her
dear
old
careful
boy
is
tiring
himself
out
,
she
knows
;
that
my
aunt
has
no
sleep
,
yet
is
always
wakeful
,
active
,
and
kind
.
Sometimes
,
the
little
bird
-
like
ladies
come
to
see
her
;
and
then
we
talk
about
our
wedding
-
day
,
and
all
that
happy
time
.
What
a
strange
rest
and
pause
in
my
life
there
seems
to
be
—
and
in
all
life
,
within
doors
and
without
—
when
I
sit
in
the
quiet
,
shaded
,
orderly
room
,
with
the
blue
eyes
of
my
child
-
wife
turned
towards
me
,
and
her
little
fingers
twining
round
my
hand
!
Many
and
many
an
hour
I
sit
thus
;
but
,
of
all
those
times
,
three
times
come
the
freshest
on
my
mind
.
It
is
morning
;
and
Dora
,
made
so
trim
by
my
aunt
’
s
hands
,
shows
me
how
her
pretty
hair
will
curl
upon
the
pillow
yet
,
an
how
long
and
bright
it
is
,
and
how
she
likes
to
have
it
loosely
gathered
in
that
net
she
wears
.
‘
Not
that
I
am
vain
of
it
,
now
,
you
mocking
boy
,
’
she
says
,
when
I
smile
;
‘
but
because
you
used
to
say
you
thought
it
so
beautiful
;
and
because
,
when
I
first
began
to
think
about
you
,
I
used
to
peep
in
the
glass
,
and
wonder
whether
you
would
like
very
much
to
have
a
lock
of
it
.
Oh
what
a
foolish
fellow
you
were
,
Doady
,
when
I
gave
you
one
!
’
‘
That
was
on
the
day
when
you
were
painting
the
flowers
I
had
given
you
,
Dora
,
and
when
I
told
you
how
much
in
love
I
was
.
’
