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Главная
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- Книги
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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 632/820
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‘
It
was
you
,
if
I
don
’
t
deceive
myself
,
’
she
said
,
in
a
broken
voice
,
‘
that
came
into
the
kitchen
,
the
night
she
took
such
pity
on
me
;
was
so
gentle
to
me
;
didn
’
t
shrink
away
from
me
like
all
the
rest
,
and
gave
me
such
kind
help
!
Was
it
you
,
sir
?
’
‘
It
was
,
’
said
I
.
‘
I
should
have
been
in
the
river
long
ago
,
’
she
said
,
glancing
at
it
with
a
terrible
expression
,
‘
if
any
wrong
to
her
had
been
upon
my
mind
.
I
never
could
have
kept
out
of
it
a
single
winter
’
s
night
,
if
I
had
not
been
free
of
any
share
in
that
!
’
‘
The
cause
of
her
flight
is
too
well
understood
,
’
I
said
.
‘
You
are
innocent
of
any
part
in
it
,
we
thoroughly
believe
,
—
we
know
.
’
‘
Oh
,
I
might
have
been
much
the
better
for
her
,
if
I
had
had
a
better
heart
!
’
exclaimed
the
girl
,
with
most
forlorn
regret
;
‘
for
she
was
always
good
to
me
!
She
never
spoke
a
word
to
me
but
what
was
pleasant
and
right
.
Is
it
likely
I
would
try
to
make
her
what
I
am
myself
,
knowing
what
I
am
myself
,
so
well
?
When
I
lost
everything
that
makes
life
dear
,
the
worst
of
all
my
thoughts
was
that
I
was
parted
for
ever
from
her
!
’
Mr
.
Peggotty
,
standing
with
one
hand
on
the
gunwale
of
the
boat
,
and
his
eyes
cast
down
,
put
his
disengaged
hand
before
his
face
.
‘
And
when
I
heard
what
had
happened
before
that
snowy
night
,
from
some
belonging
to
our
town
,
’
cried
Martha
,
‘
the
bitterest
thought
in
all
my
mind
was
,
that
the
people
would
remember
she
once
kept
company
with
me
,
and
would
say
I
had
corrupted
her
!
When
,
Heaven
knows
,
I
would
have
died
to
have
brought
back
her
good
name
!
’
Long
unused
to
any
self
-
control
,
the
piercing
agony
of
her
remorse
and
grief
was
terrible
.
‘
To
have
died
,
would
not
have
been
much
—
what
can
I
say
?
—
I
would
have
lived
!
’
she
cried
.
‘
I
would
have
lived
to
be
old
,
in
the
wretched
streets
—
and
to
wander
about
,
avoided
,
in
the
dark
—
and
to
see
the
day
break
on
the
ghastly
line
of
houses
,
and
remember
how
the
same
sun
used
to
shine
into
my
room
,
and
wake
me
once
—
I
would
have
done
even
that
,
to
save
her
!
’
Sinking
on
the
stones
,
she
took
some
in
each
hand
,
and
clenched
them
up
,
as
if
she
would
have
ground
them
.
She
writhed
into
some
new
posture
constantly
:
stiffening
her
arms
,
twisting
them
before
her
face
,
as
though
to
shut
out
from
her
eyes
the
little
light
there
was
,
and
drooping
her
head
,
as
if
it
were
heavy
with
insupportable
recollections
.
