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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 781/820
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I
could
not
do
that
,
having
promised
to
ride
back
to
my
aunt
’
s
at
night
;
but
I
would
pass
the
day
there
,
joyfully
.
‘
I
must
be
a
prisoner
for
a
little
while
,
’
said
Agnes
,
‘
but
here
are
the
old
books
,
Trotwood
,
and
the
old
music
.
’
‘
Even
the
old
flowers
are
here
,
’
said
I
,
looking
round
;
‘
or
the
old
kinds
.
’
‘
I
have
found
a
pleasure
,
’
returned
Agnes
,
smiling
,
‘
while
you
have
been
absent
,
in
keeping
everything
as
it
used
to
be
when
we
were
children
.
For
we
were
very
happy
then
,
I
think
.
’
‘
Heaven
knows
we
were
!
’
said
I
.
‘
And
every
little
thing
that
has
reminded
me
of
my
brother
,
’
said
Agnes
,
with
her
cordial
eyes
turned
cheerfully
upon
me
,
‘
has
been
a
welcome
companion
.
Even
this
,
’
showing
me
the
basket
-
trifle
,
full
of
keys
,
still
hanging
at
her
side
,
‘
seems
to
jingle
a
kind
of
old
tune
!
’
She
smiled
again
,
and
went
out
at
the
door
by
which
she
had
come
.
It
was
for
me
to
guard
this
sisterly
affection
with
religious
care
.
It
was
all
that
I
had
left
myself
,
and
it
was
a
treasure
.
If
I
once
shook
the
foundations
of
the
sacred
confidence
and
usage
,
in
virtue
of
which
it
was
given
to
me
,
it
was
lost
,
and
could
never
be
recovered
.
I
set
this
steadily
before
myself
.
The
better
I
loved
her
,
the
more
it
behoved
me
never
to
forget
it
.
I
walked
through
the
streets
;
and
,
once
more
seeing
my
old
adversary
the
butcher
—
now
a
constable
,
with
his
staff
hanging
up
in
the
shop
—
went
down
to
look
at
the
place
where
I
had
fought
him
;
and
there
meditated
on
Miss
Shepherd
and
the
eldest
Miss
Larkins
,
and
all
the
idle
loves
and
likings
,
and
dislikings
,
of
that
time
.
Nothing
seemed
to
have
survived
that
time
but
Agnes
;
and
she
,
ever
a
star
above
me
,
was
brighter
and
higher
.
