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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 493/820
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I
soon
carried
desolation
into
the
bosom
of
our
joys
-
not
that
I
meant
to
do
it
,
but
that
I
was
so
full
of
the
subject
-
by
asking
Dora
,
without
the
smallest
preparation
,
if
she
could
love
a
beggar
?
My
pretty
,
little
,
startled
Dora
!
Her
only
association
with
the
word
was
a
yellow
face
and
a
nightcap
,
or
a
pair
of
crutches
,
or
a
wooden
leg
,
or
a
dog
with
a
decanter
-
stand
in
his
mouth
,
or
something
of
that
kind
;
and
she
stared
at
me
with
the
most
delightful
wonder
.
‘
How
can
you
ask
me
anything
so
foolish
?
’
pouted
Dora
.
‘
Love
a
beggar
!
’
‘
Dora
,
my
own
dearest
!
’
said
I
.
‘
I
am
a
beggar
!
’
‘
How
can
you
be
such
a
silly
thing
,
’
replied
Dora
,
slapping
my
hand
,
‘
as
to
sit
there
,
telling
such
stories
?
I
’
ll
make
Jip
bite
you
!
’
Her
childish
way
was
the
most
delicious
way
in
the
world
to
me
,
but
it
was
necessary
to
be
explicit
,
and
I
solemnly
repeated
:
‘
Dora
,
my
own
life
,
I
am
your
ruined
David
!
’
‘
I
declare
I
’
ll
make
Jip
bite
you
!
’
said
Dora
,
shaking
her
curls
,
‘
if
you
are
so
ridiculous
.
’
But
I
looked
so
serious
,
that
Dora
left
off
shaking
her
curls
,
and
laid
her
trembling
little
hand
upon
my
shoulder
,
and
first
looked
scared
and
anxious
,
then
began
to
cry
.
That
was
dreadful
.
I
fell
upon
my
knees
before
the
sofa
,
caressing
her
,
and
imploring
her
not
to
rend
my
heart
;
but
,
for
some
time
,
poor
little
Dora
did
nothing
but
exclaim
Oh
dear
!
Oh
dear
!
And
oh
,
she
was
so
frightened
!
And
where
was
Julia
Mills
!
And
oh
,
take
her
to
Julia
Mills
,
and
go
away
,
please
!
until
I
was
almost
beside
myself
.
