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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 624/820
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‘
Mr
.
Peggotty
,
’
said
I
,
taking
the
chair
he
handed
me
,
‘
don
’
t
expect
much
!
I
have
heard
some
news
.
’
‘
Of
Em
’
ly
!
’
He
put
his
hand
,
in
a
nervous
manner
,
on
his
mouth
,
and
turned
pale
,
as
he
fixed
his
eyes
on
mine
.
‘
It
gives
no
clue
to
where
she
is
;
but
she
is
not
with
him
.
’
He
sat
down
,
looking
intently
at
me
,
and
listened
in
profound
silence
to
all
I
had
to
tell
.
I
well
remember
the
sense
of
dignity
,
beauty
even
,
with
which
the
patient
gravity
of
his
face
impressed
me
,
when
,
having
gradually
removed
his
eyes
from
mine
,
he
sat
looking
downward
,
leaning
his
forehead
on
his
hand
.
He
offered
no
interruption
,
but
remained
throughout
perfectly
still
.
He
seemed
to
pursue
her
figure
through
the
narrative
,
and
to
let
every
other
shape
go
by
him
,
as
if
it
were
nothing
.
When
I
had
done
,
he
shaded
his
face
,
and
continued
silent
.
I
looked
out
of
the
window
for
a
little
while
,
and
occupied
myself
with
the
plants
.
‘
How
do
you
fare
to
feel
about
it
,
Mas
’
r
Davy
?
’
he
inquired
at
length
.
‘
I
think
that
she
is
living
,
’
I
replied
.
‘
I
doen
’
t
know
.
Maybe
the
first
shock
was
too
rough
,
and
in
the
wildness
of
her
art
—
That
there
blue
water
as
she
used
to
speak
on
.
Could
she
have
thowt
o
’
that
so
many
year
,
because
it
was
to
be
her
grave
!
’
