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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 398/820
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‘
Oh
!
’
said
Miss
Dartle
,
nodding
her
head
thoughtfully
.
‘
To
be
sure
.
That
would
prevent
it
?
Why
,
of
course
it
would
.
Exactly
.
Now
,
I
am
glad
I
have
been
so
foolish
as
to
put
the
case
,
for
it
is
so
very
good
to
know
that
your
duty
to
each
other
would
prevent
it
!
Thank
you
very
much
.
’
One
other
little
circumstance
connected
with
Miss
Dartle
I
must
not
omit
;
for
I
had
reason
to
remember
it
thereafter
,
when
all
the
irremediable
past
was
rendered
plain
.
During
the
whole
of
this
day
,
but
especially
from
this
period
of
it
,
Steerforth
exerted
himself
with
his
utmost
skill
,
and
that
was
with
his
utmost
ease
,
to
charm
this
singular
creature
into
a
pleasant
and
pleased
companion
.
That
he
should
succeed
,
was
no
matter
of
surprise
to
me
.
That
she
should
struggle
against
the
fascinating
influence
of
his
delightful
art
—
delightful
nature
I
thought
it
then
—
did
not
surprise
me
either
;
for
I
knew
that
she
was
sometimes
jaundiced
and
perverse
.
I
saw
her
features
and
her
manner
slowly
change
;
I
saw
her
look
at
him
with
growing
admiration
;
I
saw
her
try
,
more
and
more
faintly
,
but
always
angrily
,
as
if
she
condemned
a
weakness
in
herself
,
to
resist
the
captivating
power
that
he
possessed
;
and
finally
,
I
saw
her
sharp
glance
soften
,
and
her
smile
become
quite
gentle
,
and
I
ceased
to
be
afraid
of
her
as
I
had
really
been
all
day
,
and
we
all
sat
about
the
fire
,
talking
and
laughing
together
,
with
as
little
reserve
as
if
we
had
been
children
.
Whether
it
was
because
we
had
sat
there
so
long
,
or
because
Steerforth
was
resolved
not
to
lose
the
advantage
he
had
gained
,
I
do
not
know
;
but
we
did
not
remain
in
the
dining
-
room
more
than
five
minutes
after
her
departure
.
‘
She
is
playing
her
harp
,
’
said
Steerforth
,
softly
,
at
the
drawing
-
room
door
,
‘
and
nobody
but
my
mother
has
heard
her
do
that
,
I
believe
,
these
three
years
.
’
He
said
it
with
a
curious
smile
,
which
was
gone
directly
;
and
we
went
into
the
room
and
found
her
alone
.
‘
Don
’
t
get
up
,
’
said
Steerforth
(
which
she
had
already
done
)
’
my
dear
Rosa
,
don
’
t
!
Be
kind
for
once
,
and
sing
us
an
Irish
song
.
’
‘
What
do
you
care
for
an
Irish
song
?
’
she
returned
.
‘
Much
!
’
said
Steerforth
.
‘
Much
more
than
for
any
other
.
Here
is
Daisy
,
too
,
loves
music
from
his
soul
.
Sing
us
an
Irish
song
,
Rosa
!
and
let
me
sit
and
listen
as
I
used
to
do
.
’
He
did
not
touch
her
,
or
the
chair
from
which
she
had
risen
,
but
sat
himself
near
the
harp
.
She
stood
beside
it
for
some
little
while
,
in
a
curious
way
,
going
through
the
motion
of
playing
it
with
her
right
hand
,
but
not
sounding
it
.
At
length
she
sat
down
,
and
drew
it
to
her
with
one
sudden
action
,
and
played
and
sang
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
it
was
,
in
her
touch
or
voice
,
that
made
that
song
the
most
unearthly
I
have
ever
heard
in
my
life
,
or
can
imagine
.
There
was
something
fearful
in
the
reality
of
it
.
It
was
as
if
it
had
never
been
written
,
or
set
to
music
,
but
sprung
out
of
passion
within
her
;
which
found
imperfect
utterance
in
the
low
sounds
of
her
voice
,
and
crouched
again
when
all
was
still
.
I
was
dumb
when
she
leaned
beside
the
harp
again
,
playing
it
,
but
not
sounding
it
,
with
her
right
hand
.
