Chapter 6 Chapter Two: Memories of My Early Years

When I recall the chaotic days of my infancy, my mother, my mother, with her fair hair and youthful appearance, comes first and clear to my mind, and Peggotty without a shape.Peggotty's eyes were so dark that the part of her face around them was darkened too, and her cheeks and arms were so hard and red that I used to feel sorry for the birds not coming to peck her but apples. strangeness. I believe I remember the two knelt or stooped not far from each other, and they became dwarfs in my eyes, and I waddled from one to the other.I was often confused whether it was an impression or a memory—Peggotty would touch me with her needle-worn forefinger, which gave me the same sensation as a cardamom grater.

Maybe it's just an illusion, though I believe that our memory goes back to a much earlier age than many of us think, just as I believe that many young children's observations are astonishingly close and accurate.In fact, there are many adults who can be called remarkable in these respects, and they have not lost it rather than acquired it.In the same way, after I have observed those people who have always maintained vigor, generosity and optimism, I feel that this is also a kind of wealth they have preserved after childhood. Pausing to just say this, I suspect I'm "wandering" myself too.But I have to say that some of these conclusions are based on my own personal experience.If anything in this story shows that I am either an observant child or an adult who remembers my childhood well, I can certainly claim to have both traits without shame.

Looking back on the chaos of my childhood, standing above all the confusion and chaos are my mother and Peggotty.What else do I remember?Let me remember it. What emerged from the cloud was our house, not new to me, but very familiar, as I remembered it from my early years.On the first floor was Peggotty's kitchen, with a door leading out into the back yard.In the middle of the backyard there is a pole with a pigeon house on it, but there are no pigeons in it; there is a kennel in the corner of the yard, but there are no dogs in it; , Walking around aggressively.There is a rooster that always flies to the top of the post to crow. Whenever I look at it from the kitchen window, it seems to pay special attention to me. It looks so fierce that I tremble with fright.There is a flock of geese by the courtyard gate, and every time I pass there, they stretch out their necks and waddle after me. As a result, just like a man who has been trapped by wild animals dreams of lions, I also dream of these at night. Goose.

There is a long corridor, which seems to me really long and deep!It ran from Peggotty's kitchen to the front door.There was a door to it in a dark store-room, and it was a place I had to run through when I passed by at night, because I couldn't figure out where the Something will poke out from behind those barrels and old tea boxes.From the door came a damp, musty smell, soap, pickles, pepper, candles, coffee, all mingled.Then there are two drawing-rooms, one for us—my mother, me, and Peggotty; for Peggotty is our real companion when we have no company after the day's work—at night. The drawing-room, and the other the best drawing-room where we sat on Sundays, the latter was grand, but not very comfortable, and I always thought it a miserable room, because Peggotty had told me--didn't know When was it, apparently a long, long time ago--about my father's funeral, and about the men in the black coats.One Sunday evening, in that room, my mother read to me and Peggotty how the Lazarus rose from the dead. I was so frightened that they were afterwards obliged to lift me out of bed, and The quiet cemetery outside the bedroom window pointed out to me.Under the solemn moonlight, the dead rest there.

-------- ① See the eleventh chapter of the Gospel of Mark in the "Bible New Testament". I don't know anywhere else that's half as green as the grass in a cemetery.There is nothing so half shaded by the trees there, and nothing so half quiet by the tombstones there.Kneeling on the cot in the small suite in my mother's bedroom early in the morning, I could see the sheep grazing and the sundial glowing red.So I thought: Could it be that the sundial is happy because it can tell the time again? Our pews in church are here.What a high back!There is a window nearby, from which we can see our house.Peggotty looked into our house many times during morning service, always trying to assure herself as best she could that our house hadn't been robbed or caught in a fire.Though Peggotty's own eyes looked about, mine looked about and she was displeased.She frowned at me as I stood on the pew, motioning for me to look at the pastor.But I can't keep looking at him—I can recognize him even if he isn't wearing the white trousers, and I'm afraid he'll be surprised that I keep looking at him, and maybe he'll stop preaching Come and ask me—then what should I do?Yawning is bad, but I gotta do something.I looked at my mother, but she pretended not to see me.I looked over to a little boy in the aisle and he made a face at me.I looked across the front porch into the sunlight from the open door and saw a stray sheep--I don't mean a sinner, but a sheep with mutton--that kind of wanted to come into church mean.I felt that if I looked at it any longer I would be tempted to say something aloud, and then what would I be!I looked up again at the talisman on the wall, and tried desperately to remember the late Mr. Borgers of our parish, and to imagine what his wife must have felt when he had suffered so much and the doctor had failed him.

I don't know if they had Mr. Chillip then, and if he couldn't do anything about it; if so, if he wanted people to mention it once a week and remember it.I saw the pulpit again from Mr. Chillip in his Sunday collar, and thought what a fine playground it would be, and what a castle it could be, when another kid climbed the ladder to attack it When the time comes, you can throw a velvet cushion with tassels on his head.Gradually, my eyes closed, and I seemed to hear the priest singing a lullaby vigorously, and then I couldn't hear anything until I fell off the seat with a thud, and Peggotty brought me, who was half dead, to the ground. back home.

Now I see the outside of our house, the bedroom latticed windows open to let in the fresh air; and the old crow's nests swinging in the old elms at the end of the front garden.Now I'm in the back garden, behind the yard where the empty pigeon coops and empty kennels are, there's a special place for butterflies, with a high fence, and a gate locked with a hook lock.The trees in the garden were laden with fruit, never before in any garden had so much fruit been so ripe.My mother was picking fruit from the garden and putting it in the basket, while I stood by and swallowed the stolen strawberries in a panic, trying to look like I was okay.A gust of wind blew, and the summer passed in a blink of an eye.We played games and danced in the living room in the winter evenings.My mother sat down to rest in the armchair when she was out of breath, and I saw her curl her fingers and straighten her back.She likes to look healthy and prides herself on being so good, and I know that better than anyone.

This is part of my earliest impressions.One of my earliest insights from what I saw was that my mother and I were a little afraid of Peggotty, and obeyed her in most things--if that counts as an insight. One evening Peggotty and I sat together by the fire in the drawing-room.I was reading to Peggotty a story about crocodiles.I must have read it too vividly, or maybe the good guy was too interested, because I remember that when I finished, she had the vague impression that the crocodile was a vegetable.I'm tired and sleepy, but since I've been given the rare privilege of waiting until my mother returns from spending the evenings next door - I'm not going to sleep, not even if I die at my post (of course Yes) nor go to sleep.I've gotten so sleepy that it seems to me that Peggotty has swelled and grown very, very big.I propped up my eyelids with two index fingers, and looked hard at her as she sat there busy with her work, and saw that she kept a small piece of candle stub for wiping sewing threads—it looked so old, though It’s the crepes of many ditches—look at the little house with thatched roof where Yi Chi lived, at her sewing box with St. The brass thimble, to see her very dear to me.I'm so sleepy, I know if I can't see anything, even for a moment, I'm all screwed.

"Peggotty," I said suddenly, "were you ever married?" "Dear me, Master Weiwei," answered Peggotty, "how did you think of marriage?" She answered me so panicked that I woke up instantly.She pulled the needle to the point where the thread could no longer pull, and stopped what she was doing to look at me. "Have you ever been married, Peggotty?" said I. "You're a pretty woman, aren't you?" Indeed, I think she and my mother are different types of people, but she seems to me to be another type of beauty.In the best parlour, there was a red velvet footstool on which my mother had drawn a bouquet.To me the stool had the same ground as Peggotty's complexion.The stool is smooth and the Peggotty is rough, but that's okay.

"I'm pretty, David?" said Peggotty. "Oh, no, dear! How on earth did you think of getting married?" "I don't know!—you mustn't marry more than one at a time, can you, Peggotty?" "Of course not," replied Peggotty without hesitation. "But if you marry a man, and that man dies, you can marry another man, won't you, Peggotty?" "You may," said Peggotty, "if you choose, my dear. This is a matter of perspective. " "What about your opinion, Peggotty?" I said. I asked her and looked at her curiously because she was looking at me with such amazement.

"My point is," said Peggotty, taking her eyes away from me, and going on with her work after a moment's reflection, "that I shall never marry, Master Wade, nor do I have any intention of marrying. .That's how I see it." "You're not angry, I suppose, Peggotty, are you?" I added, after sitting quietly for a minute. Because she was so cold to me, I really thought she was angry at the time.But I was wrong to think so, because she put aside the work she was doing (it was one of her socks), opened her arms, hugged my curly head, and squeezed hard.I knew it was a hard squeeze, because after she was dressed, the buttons on the back of her long gown would fly out as long as she made a little effort.I remember when she put her arms around me, two buttons jumped across the living room. "Now, let's hear the yam again," said Peggotty, who could not yet pronounce the word correctly. "I haven't heard half of it yet." I couldn't understand then why Peggotty looked so strange, or why she wanted to go back to the crocodile so much.As soon as I got back to those monsters, though, I was sober again.We leave their eggs in the sand to be hatched by the sun, we run around them and annoy them by turning constantly--they cannot turn very quickly because of their bulky bodies, we run like natives Chasing them in the water, inserting sharp wooden sticks into their throats, in a word, we have played all the tricks of torturing and punishing crocodiles.At least, I did that myself, but I was a little skeptical about Peggotty, who was always thinking and poking her face or arm with the point of a needle now and then. We had exhausted the crocodiles, and we were on to the alligators, when the garden bell rang.We come to the door.My mother was there, and I thought she looked prettier than usual.Standing with her was the well-dressed man with dark hair and beard who had walked home with us from church last Sunday. When my mother bent down at the door to hug and kiss me, the man said I was a little fellow with more privileges than the emperor—or something like that, as my understanding developed later on. "What does that mean?" I asked him on my mother's shoulder. He patted my hand, but for some reason I didn't like the man, the deep voice of the man, and I was jealous that his hand touched my mother's when he touched me.His hand did touch my mother's, and I pushed it away. "Ah, Wei Wei!" Mother scolded. "Sweet boy!" said the man, "I'm not surprised at his loyalty." The beautiful face of my mother is something I have never seen before.She gently reproached me for my rudeness, and hugged me closer to her shawl.She turned away and thanked the man who had gone so far to get her home.She held out her hand to the man as she spoke, and when he reached out to take it too, she gave me a look, and I think so. "Let's say 'goodbye,' my dear boy," said the man, laying—I saw—his head on his mother's little glove. "Goodbye!" I said. "Okay! Let's be best friends in the world!" the man said with a smile. "Shake hands!" My right hand was held by my mother's left hand, so I stretched out my left hand to him. "Hey, it's not this hand, Wei Wei!" the man laughed. Mother pulled out my right hand and sent it forward.But for the reasons mentioned above, I refused to extend my right hand to him at all.I held out my left hand to him, and he held it enthusiastically, and said I was a brave guy.Then he left. Then I saw him turn the corner in the garden, give us one last look with his ominous black eyes, and close the door. Without a word or a move of a finger, Peggotty immediately closed and bolted the door.We walked into the living room together.Contrary to her usual custom, instead of sitting in an armchair by the fire, Mama stopped at the other end of the room and began to sing softly. "—hope you have a good evening, madam," said Peggotty.She stood in the middle of the room holding a candlestick, motionless like a big barrel. "Thank you very much, Peggotty," replied the mother, in a cheerful tone, "it's a very pleasant evening." "A stranger or something to cause this happy change?" suggested Peggotty. "A happy change indeed," replied the mother. Peggotty still stood motionless in the middle of the room, and my mother went on singing, and I fell asleep.However, I didn't sleep well, and I could still hear voices, but I couldn't make out what was said.When I awoke from that most uncomfortable stupor, I found Peggotty and my mother talking and weeping. "Not such a man as Mr. Copperfield would have liked," said Peggotty, "that's what I say, and I swear it!" "Oh! God!" cried the mother, "you're driving me crazy! Is there any girl who would be so poorly abused by her servants as I am? Why do you call me a girl so unfairly? I didn't Ever married, Peggotty?" "God knows you were married, madam," answered Peggotty. "Then how dare you," said the mother, "you know I don't mean how dare you, Peggotty, but how you have the heart--to make me suffer so, to say such cruel things to me, since you know very well , I have no friends to rely on when I leave the house!" "The more because of this," replied Peggotty, "the more impermissible it is. No! It's just not. No! Not at all! No!" Peggotty shook the candlestick so hard for emphasis that I thought she would Throw that candlestick out. "How dare you exaggerate," said the mother, with more tears welling up, "and speak so unfairly! How do you always make it so settled and arranged, Peggotty? Haven't I told you so many times?" , say it's just the most common communication, you cruel thing! You talk about pursuit, what can I do? If people are so stupid and want to abuse their feelings, is it my fault? What can I do, I ask you? Do you wish me to shave my hair, and paint my face black, or scald or burn myself to make myself ugly? I think that is what you wish, Peggotty, and I am sure you would like me to do that." This unfair rebuke seemed to hurt Peggotty, I think so. "My dear child," cried the mother, coming to the armchair in which I sat and embracing me, "my own little David! Is this a hint to me that I love my darling--my dearest?" Dear little one—lack of love!" "Nobody ever hinted at that," said Peggotty. "You hinted, Peggotty!" replied the mother. "You know you hinted. You know in your heart that you hinted. What do you mean by what you say; I'm just as innocent, I refused to buy a new parasol for myself last quarter, even though the old green one was all torn and the tassels weren't a bit clean, it was for him. You know that's what it is, Peggy Mention. You can't deny it." She turned toward me again with passion, her face pressed against mine, "Do you think I'm a naughty mother, David? I'm a nasty, hard-hearted Yes, selfish bad mother? Say I am, my boy, say 'Yes, dear boy, Peggotty will love you, Peggotty's love is much greater than mine, David .I don't love you at all, do I?" At this time, we all burst into tears.I think I cried the loudest of the three.But I believe that we all cry sincerely.I was so heartbroken that I feared calling Peggotty a "brute" in a moment of excitement.I still remember how painful that honest person was when all the buttons on her dress flew off at once.When she made up with her mother, she knelt down by the armchair to make peace with me, and all those little bombs went off. We all went to bed unhappy.For a long time I woke up from time to time by myself whimpering.Once I was whimpering so much that I sat up in bed when I found my mother leaning over me on top of the quilt.Later, I fell asleep in her arms and slept soundly. Whether I saw the man again the following Sunday, or a longer time later, I can't remember.I never considered myself good at keeping dates.He came to church, though, and walked home with us.He also came into our house to look at the famous geraniums in the living room window.I don't think he looked at the flower very seriously, but before leaving, he asked his mother to give him one.She let him choose, but he didn't want to--I don't know why he did--and she plucked a flower and gave it to him.He said he would never leave the flower.I thought at the time that this man was really stupid for not knowing that the petals of this flower would fall off in a day or two. In the evenings, Peggotty was no longer with us as he had been in the past.Mother treated her with respect—more than usual, it seemed to me—and we weren't great friends, but we weren't what we used to be, and we weren't as happy together as we used to be.I have sometimes thought that perhaps Peggotty objected to those fine dresses my mother wore in the drawer, and perhaps Peggotty objected to her going so often to the neighbor's; but I could not quite make out. Gradually, I also got used to seeing the man with the black beard.I didn't like him any more than I used to, and I was still disturbed by the same jealousy for him.If there was any reason for this, not merely a child's instinctive resentment, and Peggotty's and my usual opinion of mothers, but it was by no means me. The reason you can discover when you are a little older.At the time, that point of view hadn't come into my head, or that point of view hadn't come close to my head.But it is not yet possible to connect these dots into a net and put someone into this net. One autumn morning, when my mother and I were in his front garden, Mr. Murdstone—I knew his surname then—came up here on horseback.He reined in to greet my mother and said he was going to Rostoft to see some friends who were sailing there.He also cheerfully suggested that I sit in his front saddle if I would take a ride. The air was fresh and sweet, and the horse seemed to be quite willing to be ridden, standing at the garden gate, puffing and kicking non-stop.This time, I felt itchy in my heart, I really wanted to go.I was therefore sent up-stairs to Peggotty's, to have me cleaned up.At this moment Mr. Murdstone dismounted, and with the rein on his arm, walked slowly up and down the rose hedge in the garden, while his mother walked slowly up and down with him within the hedge.I remember Peggotty and I peeping at them from my little window.I still remember that as they walked, they seemed to observe the roses among them very carefully.I also remember that Peggotty, who had always been as gentle as an angel, became very irritable, and twisted my hair so hard that he combed it in the wrong direction. In a short while Mr Murdstone and I set off.The horses galloped along the green meadows beside the road.He put his arm around me very casually. I believe that I am usually not very active, but sitting in front of him now, I can't turn my face to look up at his face from time to time.His dark eyes were shallow—for lack of a better word for his eyes, which, on close inspection, lacked any depth—and in ecstasy, each time they moved, they seemed to be caught by a strange The light has changed.Several times, while looking at him, I observed his expression with awe, wondering what he was thinking.From this close, his hair and beard were thicker and darker than I had previously believed.The lower part of his face is square, and the black beard that is carefully shaved every day has left thick and hard stubble. All this reminds me of the wax figure that was on tour in our area about half a year ago.This, combined with his neat eyebrows, the strong whiteness of his complexion, and the distinct black and brown of his features—he was such a repulsive look to even think about—made me think that he He's a handsome man, although I've been uneasy.I'm sure my poor, sweet mother thought so too. We came to a hotel on the beach.Two men were smoking cigars in one of the rooms there, reclining on at least four chairs each, and both wearing loose duffel jackets.In one corner were some coats, a navy cape, and a flag, all bundled together. When we arrived, they both lazily rose from their chairs and said, "Hey, Murdstone! We thought you were dead!" "Not yet," said Mr. Murdstone. "Who is this kid?" One of them grabbed me and asked. "This is David," replied Mr. Murdstone. "What's your last name?" the man said again, "Jones?" "Copperfield," said Mr Murdstone. "What, that charming Mrs. Copperfield's brat?" cried the man, "that pretty little widow?" "Quinine," said Mr. Murdstone, "please be careful. Some people are fine." "Who is the best?" the man asked with a smile. I immediately looked up, wondering who it was. "Just Buddox of Sheffield," said Mr. Murdstone. I was relieved when I heard it was only Brooks of Sheffield.At first I thought it was me. Brooks of Sheffield seemed to have an amusing reputation, for the very mention of him gave the two men a good laugh, and Mr Murdstone too.After laughing for a while, the gentleman called Quinine said: "What does Brooks of Sheffield mean about this promising business?" "Well, I don't see how much Brooks now knows about the matter," replied Mr. Murdstone, "but I don't believe he agrees very much." Hearing this, everyone laughed again.Mr. Quinn said to ring the bell for some wine to bless Brooks.He did the same.When the wine was served, he asked me to have a drink and a biscuit.Before I drink, he asks me to stand up and talk. "Down with Brooks of Sheffield!" The blessing drew cheers and laughter from everyone, including myself.When I smiled, they laughed even more happily.In a word, everyone was very happy. After that, we walked on the cliffs by the sea.Sitting on the grass again, looking through the binoculars—I couldn't see anything when the binoculars were in front of me, but I pretended to—then we went back to the hotel for an early lunch.While walking outside, the two smoked incessantly.I thought, if one could judge by the smell of their duffel coats, that they had been inhaling them when they got them back from the tailor.I should not forget that, after we boarded the yacht, all three of them went into the cabin and busied themselves with some papers.When I looked down through the open skylight, I saw them working very hard.During this period, they let a very kind person take care of me.It was a big head with red hair and a tiny hat that was shiny.The man was wearing a denim shirt or vest with "Skylark" embroidered in large letters on the chest.I think that's his name, because he lives on a boat and can't have his name marked on the door like he lives on the street, so he puts his name on his chest, but when I call him Mr. Skylark, he says This is the name of the boat. All that day I observed Mr. Murdstone to be more serious and serious than either of them.The two were happy and carefree, and often joked with each other, but hardly with him.I feel more scheming and calmer with them than he does, and they seem to share my opinion of him.Once or twice, it seemed to me, Mr. Quinning looked sideways at Mr. Murdstone as he spoke, as if afraid of offending him.Another time, when Mr. Basnridge (another man) was triumphant, Quinine kicked him twice in the foot, and Quinine gave him a warning look, calling his attention to Mr. Murdstone, who was sitting silently.I can't recall a time when Murdstone laughed that day except at that Sheffield joke--it was a joke of his own, after all. We got home before dark.It was a breezy evening, and my mother and he were walking along the rose hedge again, and I was sent in for tea.After he left, my mother asked me what I did that day, and what they did and said.I recounted what they had said and she laughed and told me they were babbling brats--but I could tell she liked their babbling.I knew this then as well as now.I took the opportunity to ask her if she had ever seen Mr Brooks of Sheffield, but she answered no; but she thought he must be a cutlery. -------- ① Sheffield is famous for its hardware manufacturing industry and has always been the center of British iron smelting. At this moment, her face came to me again, as clear as any face I wanted to find in the crowds in the street; can I say that her face is long gone? —though I remember it has changed, though I know it has disappeared.When her girlish innocence and beauty hit me again like that night, did I say they withered?Can I say she's changed when she comes back to life in my memory (if only so) and in that memory she's more youthful than I or anyone else has or has been? After the conversation, I went to bed, and now I am literally writing about the time when she came to say good night to me.She knelt beside my bed, put her forehead in her hands, and said jokingly: "What did they say, David? Tell me again. I don't believe it." "'Charming—'" I began. My mother stopped me by putting her hands to my lips. "Never be 'charming,'" she laughed, "never be 'charming' David. Now I know it's not!" "Yes, that's right. 'Charming Mrs. Copperfield,'" I repeated confidently. "Also said 'beautiful'." "No, no, never 'pretty,' never 'pretty,'" my mother put her finger on my lips again. "Yes, that's what it said. 'Pretty little widow.'" "How stupid and shameless these fellows are!" the mother smiled and covered her face. "These people are ridiculous! Isn't it? Dear Wei Wei——" "Uh, Mom." "Don't tell Peggotty, she'll be very angry with them. I'm very angry with them myself, and I don't want Peggotty to know." Of course, I said yes.So we kissed each other again and again, and soon I fell asleep. After so many years, I felt as if it was the next day, but it was probably two months or so later, when Peggotty revealed to me the astonishing thing that was about to happen to me. One evening we sat together as usual, with socks, yardsticks, candle stubs, a sewing box with St. Paul's Church painted on the lid, and a book about crocodiles for company.Mother was also away, as usual.Peggotty looked at me several times in a row, opened her mouth to say something but said nothing—I thought she was just trying to yawn, or I would panic—and finally brought the child's words. tone said: "Master Weiwei, would you like to come with me to Yarmouth and stay with my brother for a fortnight? Wouldn't that be fun?" "Is your brother a very good man, Peggotty?" I asked hastily. "Oh, what a fine man he is!" cried Peggotty, throwing up both hands, "there's the sea, and the boats and steamers, and the fishermen. Beach, and Ham can play with you—" Peggotty was referring to her nephew Ham, who was mentioned in the first chapter, and she spoke of him as if it were part of the English grammar. She narrated so many happy things, which made me very excited.So I said that must be fun, but what would mother say? "Well, I'll bet a guinea," said Peggotty, looking earnestly into my face, "that she'll let us go. If you like, I'll ask her as soon as she comes back, will you?" "But what about her when we're gone?" I said, propping my little elbows on the table, trying to get to the bottom of this issue, "She can't live alone." If Peggotty had suddenly sought a hole in that stocking, it must have been too small to be worth mending. "I say, Peggotty! She can't live alone, you know." "Oh, dear!" said Peggotty, looking at my face again at last. "Don't you know? She's staying for a fortnight with Mrs. Grape, and Mrs. Grape has a lot of company." Oh!That being the case, I would love to go.I can't wait for my mother to come back from Mrs. Grape's (that's the neighbor) and wait impatiently for her to decide whether to allow us to realize this great ideal.Mother was not as surprised as I expected, and readily agreed.Everything was arranged that night, and my board and lodging expenses during the trip will be paid one by one in the future. Soon it was time to leave.Even I felt that day came too soon.I was literally anticipating the day feverishly and fearing an earthquake or a volcanic eruption or some other natural disaster would stop that trip.We're going to take a luggage cart that leaves after breakfast.I would be happy to give you any money as long as I was allowed to sleep overnight with my clothes on and my hat and boots on. Though I relate so casually how eagerly I left that happy home, I still feel sorry for it, when I had no suspicion at the time that I was leaving it for good. I fondly recall my mother standing there kissing me as the luggage cart was about to leave in front of our house.At that point, I cried because I was so gratefully attached to my mother and to the old place I hadn't left before.I knew my mother was crying too, and I could feel her heart beating against mine. Thinking of this, I was so happy. I fondly recall my mother kneeling by the door and begging him to stop when the luggage cart owner started to move, so she could kiss me again.I blissfully basked in the intimacy and love she showed when she came up to my face and kissed me. 当我们把她一个人留下站在路旁时，默德斯通先生向她走过去，似乎在劝她别那么伤心。我绕过车篷向后看去，并在想这一切又和他有什么相干。皮果提也从另一边向后看去，她似乎挺不满意，她把脸转回车箱时可以从她脸上看出这点。 我坐在那里，朝皮果提看了一眼，同时心想：万一她像童话中说的那样奉命把我遗弃，不知我能不能沿着她落下的纽扣回到家呢？