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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 298/820
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‘
She
must
have
it
in
her
mind
to
beg
of
them
,
I
think
,
’
said
I
.
‘
A
beggar
would
be
no
novelty
,
’
said
Steerforth
;
‘
but
it
is
a
strange
thing
that
the
beggar
should
take
that
shape
tonight
.
’
‘
Why
?
’
I
asked
.
‘
For
no
better
reason
,
truly
,
than
because
I
was
thinking
,
’
he
said
,
after
a
pause
,
‘
of
something
like
it
,
when
it
came
by
.
Where
the
Devil
did
it
come
from
,
I
wonder
!
’
‘
From
the
shadow
of
this
wall
,
I
think
,
’
said
I
,
as
we
emerged
upon
a
road
on
which
a
wall
abutted
.
‘
It
’
s
gone
!
’
he
returned
,
looking
over
his
shoulder
.
‘
And
all
ill
go
with
it
.
Now
for
our
dinner
!
’
But
he
looked
again
over
his
shoulder
towards
the
sea
-
line
glimmering
afar
off
,
and
yet
again
.
And
he
wondered
about
it
,
in
some
broken
expressions
,
several
times
,
in
the
short
remainder
of
our
walk
;
and
only
seemed
to
forget
it
when
the
light
of
fire
and
candle
shone
upon
us
,
seated
warm
and
merry
,
at
table
.
Littimer
was
there
,
and
had
his
usual
effect
upon
me
.
When
I
said
to
him
that
I
hoped
Mrs
.
Steerforth
and
Miss
Dartle
were
well
,
he
answered
respectfully
(
and
of
course
respectably
)
,
that
they
were
tolerably
well
,
he
thanked
me
,
and
had
sent
their
compliments
.
This
was
all
,
and
yet
he
seemed
to
me
to
say
as
plainly
as
a
man
could
say
:
‘
You
are
very
young
,
sir
;
you
are
exceedingly
young
.
’
We
had
almost
finished
dinner
,
when
taking
a
step
or
two
towards
the
table
,
from
the
corner
where
he
kept
watch
upon
us
,
or
rather
upon
me
,
as
I
felt
,
he
said
to
his
master
:
