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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 293/820
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‘
I
wish
with
all
my
soul
I
could
guide
myself
better
!
’
There
was
a
passionate
dejection
in
his
manner
that
quite
amazed
me
.
He
was
more
unlike
himself
than
I
could
have
supposed
possible
.
‘
It
would
be
better
to
be
this
poor
Peggotty
,
or
his
lout
of
a
nephew
,
’
he
said
,
getting
up
and
leaning
moodily
against
the
chimney
-
piece
,
with
his
face
towards
the
fire
,
‘
than
to
be
myself
,
twenty
times
richer
and
twenty
times
wiser
,
and
be
the
torment
to
myself
that
I
have
been
,
in
this
Devil
’
s
bark
of
a
boat
,
within
the
last
half
-
hour
!
’
I
was
so
confounded
by
the
alteration
in
him
,
that
at
first
I
could
only
observe
him
in
silence
,
as
he
stood
leaning
his
head
upon
his
hand
,
and
looking
gloomily
down
at
the
fire
.
At
length
I
begged
him
,
with
all
the
earnestness
I
felt
,
to
tell
me
what
had
occurred
to
cross
him
so
unusually
,
and
to
let
me
sympathize
with
him
,
if
I
could
not
hope
to
advise
him
.
Before
I
had
well
concluded
,
he
began
to
laugh
—
fretfully
at
first
,
but
soon
with
returning
gaiety
.
‘
Tut
,
it
’
s
nothing
,
Daisy
!
nothing
!
’
he
replied
.
‘
I
told
you
at
the
inn
in
London
,
I
am
heavy
company
for
myself
,
sometimes
.
I
have
been
a
nightmare
to
myself
,
just
now
—
must
have
had
one
,
I
think
.
At
odd
dull
times
,
nursery
tales
come
up
into
the
memory
,
unrecognized
for
what
they
are
.
I
believe
I
have
been
confounding
myself
with
the
bad
boy
who
“
didn
’
t
care
”
,
and
became
food
for
lions
—
a
grander
kind
of
going
to
the
dogs
,
I
suppose
.
What
old
women
call
the
horrors
,
have
been
creeping
over
me
from
head
to
foot
.
I
have
been
afraid
of
myself
.
’
‘
You
are
afraid
of
nothing
else
,
I
think
,
’
said
I
.
‘
Perhaps
not
,
and
yet
may
have
enough
to
be
afraid
of
too
,
’
he
answered
.
‘
Well
!
So
it
goes
by
!
I
am
not
about
to
be
hipped
again
,
David
;
but
I
tell
you
,
my
good
fellow
,
once
more
,
that
it
would
have
been
well
for
me
(
and
for
more
than
me
)
if
I
had
had
a
steadfast
and
judicious
father
!
’
His
face
was
always
full
of
expression
,
but
I
never
saw
it
express
such
a
dark
kind
of
earnestness
as
when
he
said
these
words
,
with
his
glance
bent
on
the
fire
.
‘
So
much
for
that
!
’
he
said
,
making
as
if
he
tossed
something
light
into
the
air
,
with
his
hand
.
“
‘
Why
,
being
gone
,
I
am
a
man
again
,
”
like
Macbeth
.
And
now
for
dinner
!
If
I
have
not
(
Macbeth
-
like
)
broken
up
the
feast
with
most
admired
disorder
,
Daisy
.
’
