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Главная
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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 757/820
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I
read
her
letter
many
times
.
I
wrote
to
her
before
I
slept
.
I
told
her
that
I
had
been
in
sore
need
of
her
help
;
that
without
her
I
was
not
,
and
I
never
had
been
,
what
she
thought
me
;
but
that
she
inspired
me
to
be
that
,
and
I
would
try
.
I
did
try
.
In
three
months
more
,
a
year
would
have
passed
since
the
beginning
of
my
sorrow
.
I
determined
to
make
no
resolutions
until
the
expiration
of
those
three
months
,
but
to
try
.
I
lived
in
that
valley
,
and
its
neighbourhood
,
all
the
time
.
The
three
months
gone
,
I
resolved
to
remain
away
from
home
for
some
time
longer
;
to
settle
myself
for
the
present
in
Switzerland
,
which
was
growing
dear
to
me
in
the
remembrance
of
that
evening
;
to
resume
my
pen
;
to
work
.
I
resorted
humbly
whither
Agnes
had
commended
me
;
I
sought
out
Nature
,
never
sought
in
vain
;
and
I
admitted
to
my
breast
the
human
interest
I
had
lately
shrunk
from
.
It
was
not
long
,
before
I
had
almost
as
many
friends
in
the
valley
as
in
Yarmouth
:
and
when
I
left
it
,
before
the
winter
set
in
,
for
Geneva
,
and
came
back
in
the
spring
,
their
cordial
greetings
had
a
homely
sound
to
me
,
although
they
were
not
conveyed
in
English
words
.
I
worked
early
and
late
,
patiently
and
hard
.
I
wrote
a
Story
,
with
a
purpose
growing
,
not
remotely
,
out
of
my
experience
,
and
sent
it
to
Traddles
,
and
he
arranged
for
its
publication
very
advantageously
for
me
;
and
the
tidings
of
my
growing
reputation
began
to
reach
me
from
travellers
whom
I
encountered
by
chance
.
After
some
rest
and
change
,
I
fell
to
work
,
in
my
old
ardent
way
,
on
a
new
fancy
,
which
took
strong
possession
of
me
.
As
I
advanced
in
the
execution
of
this
task
,
I
felt
it
more
and
more
,
and
roused
my
utmost
energies
to
do
it
well
.
This
was
my
third
work
of
fiction
.
It
was
not
half
written
,
when
,
in
an
interval
of
rest
,
I
thought
of
returning
home
.
For
a
long
time
,
though
studying
and
working
patiently
,
I
had
accustomed
myself
to
robust
exercise
.
My
health
,
severely
impaired
when
I
left
England
,
was
quite
restored
.
I
had
seen
much
.
I
had
been
in
many
countries
,
and
I
hope
I
had
improved
my
store
of
knowledge
.
I
have
now
recalled
all
that
I
think
it
needful
to
recall
here
,
of
this
term
of
absence
—
with
one
reservation
.
I
have
made
it
,
thus
far
,
with
no
purpose
of
suppressing
any
of
my
thoughts
;
for
,
as
I
have
elsewhere
said
,
this
narrative
is
my
written
memory
.
I
have
desired
to
keep
the
most
secret
current
of
my
mind
apart
,
and
to
the
last
.
I
enter
on
it
now
.
I
cannot
so
completely
penetrate
the
mystery
of
my
own
heart
,
as
to
know
when
I
began
to
think
that
I
might
have
set
its
earliest
and
brightest
hopes
on
Agnes
.
I
cannot
say
at
what
stage
of
my
grief
it
first
became
associated
with
the
reflection
,
that
,
in
my
wayward
boyhood
,
I
had
thrown
away
the
treasure
of
her
love
.
I
believe
I
may
have
heard
some
whisper
of
that
distant
thought
,
in
the
old
unhappy
loss
or
want
of
something
never
to
be
realized
,
of
which
I
had
been
sensible
.
But
the
thought
came
into
my
mind
as
a
new
reproach
and
new
regret
,
when
I
was
left
so
sad
and
lonely
in
the
world
.
If
,
at
that
time
,
I
had
been
much
with
her
,
I
should
,
in
the
weakness
of
my
desolation
,
have
betrayed
this
.
It
was
what
I
remotely
dreaded
when
I
was
first
impelled
to
stay
away
from
England
.
I
could
not
have
borne
to
lose
the
smallest
portion
of
her
sisterly
affection
;
yet
,
in
that
betrayal
,
I
should
have
set
a
constraint
between
us
hitherto
unknown
.
