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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 322/820
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‘
No
,
no
,
child
!
’
she
returned
.
‘
Don
’
t
speak
to
him
for
the
world
.
I
entreat
,
I
order
you
!
’
‘
Good
Heaven
,
aunt
!
’
said
I
.
‘
He
is
nothing
but
a
sturdy
beggar
.
’
‘
You
don
’
t
know
what
he
is
!
’
replied
my
aunt
.
‘
You
don
’
t
know
who
he
is
!
You
don
’
t
know
what
you
say
!
’
We
had
stopped
in
an
empty
door
-
way
,
while
this
was
passing
,
and
he
had
stopped
too
.
‘
Don
’
t
look
at
him
!
’
said
my
aunt
,
as
I
turned
my
head
indignantly
,
‘
but
get
me
a
coach
,
my
dear
,
and
wait
for
me
in
St
.
Paul
’
s
Churchyard
.
’
‘
Wait
for
you
?
’
I
replied
.
‘
Yes
,
’
rejoined
my
aunt
.
‘
I
must
go
alone
.
I
must
go
with
him
.
’
‘
With
him
,
aunt
?
This
man
?
’
‘
I
am
in
my
senses
,
’
she
replied
,
‘
and
I
tell
you
I
must
.
Get
mea
coach
!
’
