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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 582/820
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Of
Dora
’
s
being
ready
,
and
of
Miss
Lavinia
’
s
hovering
about
her
,
loth
to
lose
the
pretty
toy
that
has
given
her
so
much
pleasant
occupation
.
Of
Dora
’
s
making
a
long
series
of
surprised
discoveries
that
she
has
forgotten
all
sorts
of
little
things
;
and
of
everybody
’
s
running
everywhere
to
fetch
them
.
Of
their
all
closing
about
Dora
,
when
at
last
she
begins
to
say
good
-
bye
,
looking
,
with
their
bright
colours
and
ribbons
,
like
a
bed
of
flowers
Of
my
darling
being
almost
smothered
among
the
flowers
,
and
coming
out
,
laughing
and
crying
both
together
,
to
my
jealous
arms
.
Of
my
wanting
to
carry
Jip
(
who
is
to
go
along
with
us
)
,
and
Dora
’
s
saying
no
,
that
she
must
carry
him
,
or
else
he
’
ll
think
she
don
’
t
like
him
any
more
,
now
she
is
married
,
and
will
break
his
heart
.
Of
our
going
,
arm
in
arm
,
and
Dora
stopping
and
looking
back
,
and
saying
,
‘
If
I
have
ever
been
cross
or
ungrateful
to
anybody
,
don
’
t
remember
it
!
’
and
bursting
into
tears
.
Of
her
waving
her
little
hand
,
and
our
going
away
once
more
.
Of
her
once
more
stopping
,
and
looking
back
,
and
hurrying
to
Agnes
,
and
giving
Agnes
,
above
all
the
others
,
her
last
kisses
and
farewells
.
We
drive
away
together
,
and
I
awake
from
the
dream
.
I
believe
it
at
last
.
It
is
my
dear
,
dear
,
little
wife
beside
me
,
whom
I
love
so
well
!
‘
Are
you
happy
now
,
you
foolish
boy
?
’
says
Dora
,
‘
and
sure
you
don
’
t
repent
?
’
I
have
stood
aside
to
see
the
phantoms
of
those
days
go
by
me
.
They
are
gone
,
and
I
resume
the
journey
of
my
story
.
It
was
a
strange
condition
of
things
,
the
honeymoon
being
over
,
and
the
bridesmaids
gone
home
,
when
I
found
myself
sitting
down
in
my
own
small
house
with
Dora
;
quite
thrown
out
of
employment
,
as
I
may
say
,
in
respect
of
the
delicious
old
occupation
of
making
love
.
It
seemed
such
an
extraordinary
thing
to
have
Dora
always
there
.
It
was
so
unaccountable
not
to
be
obliged
to
go
out
to
see
her
,
not
to
have
any
occasion
to
be
tormenting
myself
about
her
,
not
to
have
to
write
to
her
,
not
to
be
scheming
and
devising
opportunities
of
being
alone
with
her
.
Sometimes
of
an
evening
,
when
I
looked
up
from
my
writing
,
and
saw
her
seated
opposite
,
I
would
lean
back
in
my
chair
,
and
think
how
queer
it
was
that
there
we
were
,
alone
together
as
a
matter
of
course
—
nobody
’
s
business
any
more
—
all
the
romance
of
our
engagement
put
away
upon
a
shelf
,
to
rust
—
no
one
to
please
but
one
another
—
one
another
to
please
,
for
life
.
