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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 533/820
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We
had
a
very
serious
conversation
in
Buckingham
Street
that
night
,
about
the
domestic
occurrences
I
have
detailed
in
the
last
chapter
.
My
aunt
was
deeply
interested
in
them
,
and
walked
up
and
down
the
room
with
her
arms
folded
,
for
more
than
two
hours
afterwards
.
Whenever
she
was
particularly
discomposed
,
she
always
performed
one
of
these
pedestrian
feats
;
and
the
amount
of
her
discomposure
might
always
be
estimated
by
the
duration
of
her
walk
.
On
this
occasion
she
was
so
much
disturbed
in
mind
as
to
find
it
necessary
to
open
the
bedroom
door
,
and
make
a
course
for
herself
,
comprising
the
full
extent
of
the
bedrooms
from
wall
to
wall
;
and
while
Mr
.
Dick
and
I
sat
quietly
by
the
fire
,
she
kept
passing
in
and
out
,
along
this
measured
track
,
at
an
unchanging
pace
,
with
the
regularity
of
a
clock
-
pendulum
.
When
my
aunt
and
I
were
left
to
ourselves
by
Mr
.
Dick
’
s
going
out
to
bed
,
I
sat
down
to
write
my
letter
to
the
two
old
ladies
.
By
that
time
she
was
tired
of
walking
,
and
sat
by
the
fire
with
her
dress
tucked
up
as
usual
.
But
instead
of
sitting
in
her
usual
manner
,
holding
her
glass
upon
her
knee
,
she
suffered
it
to
stand
neglected
on
the
chimney
-
piece
;
and
,
resting
her
left
elbow
on
her
right
arm
,
and
her
chin
on
her
left
hand
,
looked
thoughtfully
at
me
.
As
often
as
I
raised
my
eyes
from
what
I
was
about
,
I
met
hers
.
‘
I
am
in
the
lovingest
of
tempers
,
my
dear
,
’
she
would
assure
me
with
a
nod
,
‘
but
I
am
fidgeted
and
sorry
!
’
I
had
been
too
busy
to
observe
,
until
after
she
was
gone
to
bed
,
that
she
had
left
her
night
-
mixture
,
as
she
always
called
it
,
untasted
on
the
chimney
-
piece
.
She
came
to
her
door
,
with
even
more
than
her
usual
affection
of
manner
,
when
I
knocked
to
acquaint
her
with
this
discovery
;
but
only
said
,
‘
I
have
not
the
heart
to
take
it
,
Trot
,
tonight
,
’
and
shook
her
head
,
and
went
in
again
.
She
read
my
letter
to
the
two
old
ladies
,
in
the
morning
,
and
approved
of
it
.
I
posted
it
,
and
had
nothing
to
do
then
,
but
wait
,
as
patiently
as
I
could
,
for
the
reply
.
I
was
still
in
this
state
of
expectation
,
and
had
been
,
for
nearly
a
week
;
when
I
left
the
Doctor
’
s
one
snowy
night
,
to
walk
home
.
It
had
been
a
bitter
day
,
and
a
cutting
north
-
east
wind
had
blown
for
some
time
.
The
wind
had
gone
down
with
the
light
,
and
so
the
snow
had
come
on
.
It
was
a
heavy
,
settled
fall
,
I
recollect
,
in
great
flakes
;
and
it
lay
thick
.
The
noise
of
wheels
and
tread
of
people
were
as
hushed
,
as
if
the
streets
had
been
strewn
that
depth
with
feathers
.
My
shortest
way
home
,
—
and
I
naturally
took
the
shortest
way
on
such
a
night
—
was
through
St
.
Martin
’
s
Lane
.
Now
,
the
church
which
gives
its
name
to
the
lane
,
stood
in
a
less
free
situation
at
that
time
;
there
being
no
open
space
before
it
,
and
the
lane
winding
down
to
the
Strand
.
As
I
passed
the
steps
of
the
portico
,
I
encountered
,
at
the
corner
,
a
woman
’
s
face
.
It
looked
in
mine
,
passed
across
the
narrow
lane
,
and
disappeared
.
I
knew
it
.
I
had
seen
it
somewhere
.
But
I
could
not
remember
where
.
I
had
some
association
with
it
,
that
struck
upon
my
heart
directly
;
but
I
was
thinking
of
anything
else
when
it
came
upon
me
,
and
was
confused
.
On
the
steps
of
the
church
,
there
was
the
stooping
figure
of
a
man
,
who
had
put
down
some
burden
on
the
smooth
snow
,
to
adjust
it
;
my
seeing
the
face
,
and
my
seeing
him
,
were
simultaneous
.
I
don
’
t
think
I
had
stopped
in
my
surprise
;
but
,
in
any
case
,
as
I
went
on
,
he
rose
,
turned
,
and
came
down
towards
me
.
I
stood
face
to
face
with
Mr
.
Peggotty
!
Then
I
remembered
the
woman
.
It
was
Martha
,
to
whom
Emily
had
given
the
money
that
night
in
the
kitchen
.
Martha
Endell
—
side
by
side
with
whom
,
he
would
not
have
seen
his
dear
niece
,
Ham
had
told
me
,
for
all
the
treasures
wrecked
in
the
sea
.
