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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 802/820
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‘
Do
you
doubt
my
being
what
I
always
have
been
to
you
?
’
‘
No
!
’
she
answered
,
as
before
.
‘
Do
you
remember
that
I
tried
to
tell
you
,
when
I
came
home
,
what
a
debt
of
gratitude
I
owed
you
,
dearest
Agnes
,
and
how
fervently
I
felt
towards
you
?
’
‘
I
remember
it
,
’
she
said
,
gently
,
‘
very
well
.
’
‘
You
have
a
secret
,
’
said
I
.
‘
Let
me
share
it
,
Agnes
.
’
She
cast
down
her
eyes
,
and
trembled
.
‘
I
could
hardly
fail
to
know
,
even
if
I
had
not
heard
—
but
from
other
lips
than
yours
,
Agnes
,
which
seems
strange
—
that
there
is
someone
upon
whom
you
have
bestowed
the
treasure
of
your
love
.
Do
not
shut
me
out
of
what
concerns
your
happiness
so
nearly
!
If
you
can
trust
me
,
as
you
say
you
can
,
and
as
I
know
you
may
,
let
me
be
your
friend
,
your
brother
,
in
this
matter
,
of
all
others
!
’
With
an
appealing
,
almost
a
reproachful
,
glance
,
she
rose
from
the
window
;
and
hurrying
across
the
room
as
if
without
knowing
where
,
put
her
hands
before
her
face
,
and
burst
into
such
tears
as
smote
me
to
the
heart
.
And
yet
they
awakened
something
in
me
,
bringing
promise
to
my
heart
.
Without
my
knowing
why
,
these
tears
allied
themselves
with
the
quietly
sad
smile
which
was
so
fixed
in
my
remembrance
,
and
shook
me
more
with
hope
than
fear
or
sorrow
.
