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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 728/820
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‘
Yes
.
’
She
sat
immovable
beside
me
;
but
,
again
I
saw
the
stray
tears
on
her
face
.
‘
He
was
there
once
before
,
’
said
my
aunt
presently
.
‘
He
was
ailing
a
long
time
—
a
shattered
,
broken
man
,
these
many
years
.
When
he
knew
his
state
in
this
last
illness
,
he
asked
them
to
send
for
me
.
He
was
sorry
then
.
Very
sorry
.
’
‘
You
went
,
I
know
,
aunt
.
’
‘
I
went
.
I
was
with
him
a
good
deal
afterwards
.
’
‘
He
died
the
night
before
we
went
to
Canterbury
?
’
said
I
.
My
aunt
nodded
.
‘
No
one
can
harm
him
now
,
’
she
said
.
‘
It
was
a
vain
threat
.
’
We
drove
away
,
out
of
town
,
to
the
churchyard
at
Hornsey
.
‘
Better
here
than
in
the
streets
,
’
said
my
aunt
.
‘
He
was
born
here
.
’
We
alighted
;
and
followed
the
plain
coffin
to
a
corner
I
remember
well
,
where
the
service
was
read
consigning
it
to
the
dust
.
‘
Six
-
and
-
thirty
years
ago
,
this
day
,
my
dear
,
’
said
my
aunt
,
as
we
walked
back
to
the
chariot
,
‘
I
was
married
.
God
forgive
us
all
!
’
We
took
our
seats
in
silence
;
and
so
she
sat
beside
me
for
a
long
time
,
holding
my
hand
.
At
length
she
suddenly
burst
into
tears
,
and
said
:
