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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 531/820
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I
gave
him
no
answer
,
and
went
upstairs
into
the
quiet
room
where
Agnes
had
so
often
sat
beside
me
at
my
books
.
Nobody
came
near
me
until
late
at
night
.
I
took
up
a
book
,
and
tried
to
read
.
I
heard
the
clocks
strike
twelve
,
and
was
still
reading
,
without
knowing
what
I
read
,
when
Agnes
touched
me
.
‘
You
will
be
going
early
in
the
morning
,
Trotwood
!
Let
us
say
good
-
bye
,
now
!
’
She
had
been
weeping
,
but
her
face
then
was
so
calm
and
beautiful
!
‘
Heaven
bless
you
!
’
she
said
,
giving
me
her
hand
.
‘
Dearest
Agnes
!
’
I
returned
,
‘
I
see
you
ask
me
not
to
speak
of
tonight
—
but
is
there
nothing
to
be
done
?
’
‘
There
is
God
to
trust
in
!
’
she
replied
.
‘
Can
I
do
nothing
-
I
,
who
come
to
you
with
my
poor
sorrows
?
’
‘
And
make
mine
so
much
lighter
,
’
she
replied
.
‘
Dear
Trotwood
,
no
!
’
‘
Dear
Agnes
,
’
I
said
,
‘
it
is
presumptuous
for
me
,
who
am
so
poor
in
all
in
which
you
are
so
rich
—
goodness
,
resolution
,
all
noble
qualities
—
to
doubt
or
direct
you
;
but
you
know
how
much
I
love
you
,
and
how
much
I
owe
you
.
You
will
never
sacrifice
yourself
to
a
mistaken
sense
of
duty
,
Agnes
?
’
More
agitated
for
a
moment
than
I
had
ever
seen
her
,
she
took
her
hands
from
me
,
and
moved
a
step
back
.
