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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 780/820
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‘
Is
there
nothing
else
,
Sister
?
’
I
said
.
Her
colour
,
which
had
just
now
faded
,
returned
,
and
faded
again
.
She
smiled
;
with
a
quiet
sadness
,
I
thought
;
and
shook
her
head
.
I
had
sought
to
lead
her
to
what
my
aunt
had
hinted
at
;
for
,
sharply
painful
to
me
as
it
must
be
to
receive
that
confidence
,
I
was
to
discipline
my
heart
,
and
do
my
duty
to
her
.
I
saw
,
however
,
that
she
was
uneasy
,
and
I
let
it
pass
.
‘
You
have
much
to
do
,
dear
Agnes
?
’
‘
With
my
school
?
’
said
she
,
looking
up
again
,
in
all
her
bright
composure
.
‘
Yes
.
It
is
laborious
,
is
it
not
?
’
‘
The
labour
is
so
pleasant
,
’
she
returned
,
‘
that
it
is
scarcely
grateful
in
me
to
call
it
by
that
name
.
’
‘
Nothing
good
is
difficult
to
you
,
’
said
I
.
Her
colour
came
and
went
once
more
;
and
once
more
,
as
she
bent
her
head
,
I
saw
the
same
sad
smile
.
‘
You
will
wait
and
see
papa
,
’
said
Agnes
,
cheerfully
,
‘
and
pass
the
day
with
us
?
Perhaps
you
will
sleep
in
your
own
room
?
We
always
call
it
yours
.
’
