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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 818/820
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‘
I
am
glad
to
see
you
,
sir
.
I
am
sorry
to
observe
you
are
in
mourning
.
I
hope
Time
will
be
good
to
you
.
’
Her
impatient
attendant
scolds
her
,
tells
her
I
am
not
in
mourning
,
bids
her
look
again
,
tries
to
rouse
her
.
‘
You
have
seen
my
son
,
sir
,
’
says
the
elder
lady
.
‘
Are
you
reconciled
?
’
Looking
fixedly
at
me
,
she
puts
her
hand
to
her
forehead
,
and
moans
.
Suddenly
,
she
cries
,
in
a
terrible
voice
,
‘
Rosa
,
come
to
me
.
He
is
dead
!
’
Rosa
kneeling
at
her
feet
,
by
turns
caresses
her
,
and
quarrels
with
her
;
now
fiercely
telling
her
,
‘
I
loved
him
better
than
you
ever
did
!
’
-
now
soothing
her
to
sleep
on
her
breast
,
like
a
sick
child
.
Thus
I
leave
them
;
thus
I
always
find
them
;
thus
they
wear
their
time
away
,
from
year
to
year
.
What
ship
comes
sailing
home
from
India
,
and
what
English
lady
is
this
,
married
to
a
growling
old
Scotch
Croesus
with
great
flaps
of
ears
?
Can
this
be
Julia
Mills
?
Indeed
it
is
Julia
Mills
,
peevish
and
fine
,
with
a
black
man
to
carry
cards
and
letters
to
her
on
a
golden
salver
,
and
a
copper
-
coloured
woman
in
linen
,
with
a
bright
handkerchief
round
her
head
,
to
serve
her
Tiffin
in
her
dressing
-
room
.
But
Julia
keeps
no
diary
in
these
days
;
never
sings
Affection
’
s
Dirge
;
eternally
quarrels
with
the
old
Scotch
Croesus
,
who
is
a
sort
of
yellow
bear
with
a
tanned
hide
.
Julia
is
steeped
in
money
to
the
throat
,
and
talks
and
thinks
of
nothing
else
.
I
liked
her
better
in
the
Desert
of
Sahara
.
Or
perhaps
this
IS
the
Desert
of
Sahara
!
For
,
though
Julia
has
a
stately
house
,
and
mighty
company
,
and
sumptuous
dinners
every
day
,
I
see
no
green
growth
near
her
;
nothing
that
can
ever
come
to
fruit
or
flower
.
What
Julia
calls
‘
society
’
,
I
see
;
among
it
Mr
.
Jack
Maldon
,
from
his
Patent
Place
,
sneering
at
the
hand
that
gave
it
him
,
and
speaking
to
me
of
the
Doctor
as
‘
so
charmingly
antique
’
.
But
when
society
is
the
name
for
such
hollow
gentlemen
and
ladies
,
Julia
,
and
when
its
breeding
is
professed
indifference
to
everything
that
can
advance
or
can
retard
mankind
,
I
think
we
must
have
lost
ourselves
in
that
same
Desert
of
Sahara
,
and
had
better
find
the
way
out
.
And
lo
,
the
Doctor
,
always
our
good
friend
,
labouring
at
his
Dictionary
(
somewhere
about
the
letter
D
)
,
and
happy
in
his
home
and
wife
.
Also
the
Old
Soldier
,
on
a
considerably
reduced
footing
,
and
by
no
means
so
influential
as
in
days
of
yore
!
Working
at
his
chambers
in
the
Temple
,
with
a
busy
aspect
,
and
his
hair
(
where
he
is
not
bald
)
made
more
rebellious
than
ever
by
the
constant
friction
of
his
lawyer
’
s
-
wig
,
I
come
,
in
a
later
time
,
upon
my
dear
old
Traddles
.
