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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 803/820
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‘
Agnes
!
Sister
!
Dearest
!
What
have
I
done
?
’
‘
Let
me
go
away
,
Trotwood
.
I
am
not
well
.
I
am
not
myself
.
I
will
speak
to
you
by
and
by
—
another
time
.
I
will
write
to
you
.
Don
’
t
speak
to
me
now
.
Don
’
t
!
don
’
t
!
’
I
sought
to
recollect
what
she
had
said
,
when
I
had
spoken
to
her
on
that
former
night
,
of
her
affection
needing
no
return
.
It
seemed
a
very
world
that
I
must
search
through
in
a
moment
.
‘
Agnes
,
I
cannot
bear
to
see
you
so
,
and
think
that
I
have
been
the
cause
.
My
dearest
girl
,
dearer
to
me
than
anything
in
life
,
if
you
are
unhappy
,
let
me
share
your
unhappiness
.
If
you
are
in
need
of
help
or
counsel
,
let
me
try
to
give
it
to
you
.
If
you
have
indeed
a
burden
on
your
heart
,
let
me
try
to
lighten
it
.
For
whom
do
I
live
now
,
Agnes
,
if
it
is
not
for
you
!
’
‘
Oh
,
spare
me
!
I
am
not
myself
!
Another
time
!
’
was
all
I
could
distinguish
.
Was
it
a
selfish
error
that
was
leading
me
away
?
Or
,
having
once
a
clue
to
hope
,
was
there
something
opening
to
me
that
I
had
not
dared
to
think
of
?
‘
I
must
say
more
.
I
cannot
let
you
leave
me
so
!
For
Heaven
’
s
sake
,
Agnes
,
let
us
not
mistake
each
other
after
all
these
years
,
and
all
that
has
come
and
gone
with
them
!
I
must
speak
plainly
.
If
you
have
any
lingering
thought
that
I
could
envy
the
happiness
you
will
confer
;
that
I
could
not
resign
you
to
a
dearer
protector
,
of
your
own
choosing
;
that
I
could
not
,
from
my
removed
place
,
be
a
contented
witness
of
your
joy
;
dismiss
it
,
for
I
don
’
t
deserve
it
!
I
have
not
suffered
quite
in
vain
.
You
have
not
taught
me
quite
in
vain
.
There
is
no
alloy
of
self
in
what
I
feel
for
you
.
’
She
was
quiet
now
.
In
a
little
time
,
she
turned
her
pale
face
towards
me
,
and
said
in
a
low
voice
,
broken
here
and
there
,
but
very
clear
:
‘
I
owe
it
to
your
pure
friendship
for
me
,
Trotwood
—
which
,
indeed
,
I
do
not
doubt
—
to
tell
you
,
you
are
mistaken
.
I
can
do
no
more
.
If
I
have
sometimes
,
in
the
course
of
years
,
wanted
help
and
counsel
,
they
have
come
to
me
.
If
I
have
sometimes
been
unhappy
,
the
feeling
has
passed
away
.
If
I
have
ever
had
a
burden
on
my
heart
,
it
has
been
lightened
for
me
.
If
I
have
any
secret
,
it
is
-
no
new
one
;
and
is
—
not
what
you
suppose
.
I
cannot
reveal
it
,
or
divide
it
.
It
has
long
been
mine
,
and
must
remain
mine
.
’
