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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 786/820
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For
an
instant
,
a
distressful
shadow
crossed
her
face
;
but
,
even
in
the
start
it
gave
me
,
it
was
gone
;
and
she
was
playing
on
,
and
looking
at
me
with
her
own
calm
smile
As
I
rode
back
in
the
lonely
night
,
the
wind
going
by
me
like
a
restless
memory
,
I
thought
of
this
,
and
feared
she
was
not
happy
.
I
was
not
happy
;
but
,
thus
far
,
I
had
faithfully
set
the
seal
upon
the
Past
,
and
,
thinking
of
her
,
pointing
upward
,
thought
of
her
as
pointing
to
that
sky
above
me
,
where
,
in
the
mystery
to
come
,
I
might
yet
love
her
with
a
love
unknown
on
earth
,
and
tell
her
what
the
strife
had
been
within
me
when
I
loved
her
here
.
For
a
time
—
at
all
events
until
my
book
should
be
completed
,
which
would
be
the
work
of
several
months
—
I
took
up
my
abode
in
my
aunt
’
s
house
at
Dover
;
and
there
,
sitting
in
the
window
from
which
I
had
looked
out
at
the
moon
upon
the
sea
,
when
that
roof
first
gave
me
shelter
,
I
quietly
pursued
my
task
.
In
pursuance
of
my
intention
of
referring
to
my
own
fictions
only
when
their
course
should
incidentally
connect
itself
with
the
progress
of
my
story
,
I
do
not
enter
on
the
aspirations
,
the
delights
,
anxieties
,
and
triumphs
of
my
art
.
That
I
truly
devoted
myself
to
it
with
my
strongest
earnestness
,
and
bestowed
upon
it
every
energy
of
my
soul
,
I
have
already
said
.
If
the
books
I
have
written
be
of
any
worth
,
they
will
supply
the
rest
.
I
shall
otherwise
have
written
to
poor
purpose
,
and
the
rest
will
be
of
interest
to
no
one
.
Occasionally
,
I
went
to
London
;
to
lose
myself
in
the
swarm
of
life
there
,
or
to
consult
with
Traddles
on
some
business
point
.
He
had
managed
for
me
,
in
my
absence
,
with
the
soundest
judgement
;
and
my
worldly
affairs
were
prospering
.
As
my
notoriety
began
to
bring
upon
me
an
enormous
quantity
of
letters
from
people
of
whom
I
had
no
knowledge
—
chiefly
about
nothing
,
and
extremely
difficult
to
answer
—
I
agreed
with
Traddles
to
have
my
name
painted
up
on
his
door
.
There
,
the
devoted
postman
on
that
beat
delivered
bushels
of
letters
for
me
;
and
there
,
at
intervals
,
I
laboured
through
them
,
like
a
Home
Secretary
of
State
without
the
salary
.
Among
this
correspondence
,
there
dropped
in
,
every
now
and
then
,
an
obliging
proposal
from
one
of
the
numerous
outsiders
always
lurking
about
the
Commons
,
to
practise
under
cover
of
my
name
(
if
I
would
take
the
necessary
steps
remaining
to
make
a
proctor
of
myself
)
,
and
pay
me
a
percentage
on
the
profits
.
But
I
declined
these
offers
;
being
already
aware
that
there
were
plenty
of
such
covert
practitioners
in
existence
,
and
considering
the
Commons
quite
bad
enough
,
without
my
doing
anything
to
make
it
worse
.
The
girls
had
gone
home
,
when
my
name
burst
into
bloom
on
Traddles
’
s
door
;
and
the
sharp
boy
looked
,
all
day
,
as
if
he
had
never
heard
of
Sophy
,
shut
up
in
a
back
room
,
glancing
down
from
her
work
into
a
sooty
little
strip
of
garden
with
a
pump
in
it
.
But
there
I
always
found
her
,
the
same
bright
housewife
;
often
humming
her
Devonshire
ballads
when
no
strange
foot
was
coming
up
the
stairs
,
and
blunting
the
sharp
boy
in
his
official
closet
with
melody
.
I
wondered
,
at
first
,
why
I
so
often
found
Sophy
writing
in
a
copy
-
book
;
and
why
she
always
shut
it
up
when
I
appeared
,
and
hurried
it
into
the
table
-
drawer
.
But
the
secret
soon
came
out
.
One
day
,
Traddles
(
who
had
just
come
home
through
the
drizzling
sleet
from
Court
)
took
a
paper
out
of
his
desk
,
and
asked
me
what
I
thought
of
that
handwriting
?
‘
Oh
,
DON
’
T
,
Tom
!
’
cried
Sophy
,
who
was
warming
his
slippers
before
the
fire
.
‘
My
dear
,
’
returned
Tom
,
in
a
delighted
state
,
‘
why
not
?
What
do
you
say
to
that
writing
,
Copperfield
?
’
