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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 769/820
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The
idea
of
those
Devonshire
girls
,
among
the
dry
law
-
stationers
and
the
attorneys
’
offices
;
and
of
the
tea
and
toast
,
and
children
’
s
songs
,
in
that
grim
atmosphere
of
pounce
and
parchment
,
red
-
tape
,
dusty
wafers
,
ink
-
jars
,
brief
and
draft
paper
,
law
reports
,
writs
,
declarations
,
and
bills
of
costs
;
seemed
almost
as
pleasantly
fanciful
as
if
I
had
dreamed
that
the
Sultan
’
s
famous
family
had
been
admitted
on
the
roll
of
attorneys
,
and
had
brought
the
talking
bird
,
the
singing
tree
,
and
the
golden
water
into
Gray
’
s
Inn
Hall
.
Somehow
,
I
found
that
I
had
taken
leave
of
Traddles
for
the
night
,
and
come
back
to
the
coffee
-
house
,
with
a
great
change
in
my
despondency
about
him
.
I
began
to
think
he
would
get
on
,
in
spite
of
all
the
many
orders
of
chief
waiters
in
England
.
Drawing
a
chair
before
one
of
the
coffee
-
room
fires
to
think
about
him
at
my
leisure
,
I
gradually
fell
from
the
consideration
of
his
happiness
to
tracing
prospects
in
the
live
-
coals
,
and
to
thinking
,
as
they
broke
and
changed
,
of
the
principal
vicissitudes
and
separations
that
had
marked
my
life
.
I
had
not
seen
a
coal
fire
,
since
I
had
left
England
three
years
ago
:
though
many
a
wood
fire
had
I
watched
,
as
it
crumbled
into
hoary
ashes
,
and
mingled
with
the
feathery
heap
upon
the
hearth
,
which
not
inaptly
figured
to
me
,
in
my
despondency
,
my
own
dead
hopes
.
I
could
think
of
the
past
now
,
gravely
,
but
not
bitterly
;
and
could
contemplate
the
future
in
a
brave
spirit
.
Home
,
in
its
best
sense
,
was
for
me
no
more
.
She
in
whom
I
might
have
inspired
a
dearer
love
,
I
had
taught
to
be
my
sister
.
She
would
marry
,
and
would
have
new
claimants
on
her
tenderness
;
and
in
doing
it
,
would
never
know
the
love
for
her
that
had
grown
up
in
my
heart
.
It
was
right
that
I
should
pay
the
forfeit
of
my
headlong
passion
.
What
I
reaped
,
I
had
sown
.
I
was
thinking
.
And
had
I
truly
disciplined
my
heart
to
this
,
and
could
I
resolutely
bear
it
,
and
calmly
hold
the
place
in
her
home
which
she
had
calmly
held
in
mine
,
—
when
I
found
my
eyes
resting
on
a
countenance
that
might
have
arisen
out
of
the
fire
,
in
its
association
with
my
early
remembrances
.
Little
Mr
.
Chillip
the
Doctor
,
to
whose
good
offices
I
was
indebted
in
the
very
first
chapter
of
this
history
,
sat
reading
a
newspaper
in
the
shadow
of
an
opposite
corner
.
He
was
tolerably
stricken
in
years
by
this
time
;
but
,
being
a
mild
,
meek
,
calm
little
man
,
had
worn
so
easily
,
that
I
thought
he
looked
at
that
moment
just
as
he
might
have
looked
when
he
sat
in
our
parlour
,
waiting
for
me
to
be
born
.
Mr
.
Chillip
had
left
Blunderstone
six
or
seven
years
ago
,
and
I
had
never
seen
him
since
.
He
sat
placidly
perusing
the
newspaper
,
with
his
little
head
on
one
side
,
and
a
glass
of
warm
sherry
negus
at
his
elbow
.
He
was
so
extremely
conciliatory
in
his
manner
that
he
seemed
to
apologize
to
the
very
newspaper
for
taking
the
liberty
of
reading
it
.
I
walked
up
to
where
he
was
sitting
,
and
said
,
‘
How
do
you
do
,
Mr
.
Chillip
?
’
He
was
greatly
fluttered
by
this
unexpected
address
from
a
stranger
,
and
replied
,
in
his
slow
way
,
‘
I
thank
you
,
sir
,
you
are
very
good
.
Thank
you
,
sir
.
I
hope
YOU
are
well
.
’
