Chapter 12 Chapter 8 My Holiday

a very happy afternoon Before daylight we came to the little inn where the mail-coach stopped (it was not the one where my valet was), and I was shown into a lovely little bedroom with the words "Dolphin" painted on the door. words.I was cold, though I drank the hot tea that was given me by the fire downstairs, and I knew it; so I was glad to have the dolphin's bed, and fell asleep wrapped in a dolphin's blanket from head to toe. At nine o'clock in the morning, Bagis, the coachman, was to pick me up.I get up at eight o'clock and get ready to wait for him by the appointed time.I was a little dizzy from not getting enough sleep at night.He treated me like we had parted ways only five minutes ago, like I had just gone to the hotel to change some money or something like that.

My box and I got into the car, the driver took his seat, and the languid horse took us on his way again at his customary pace. "You look very well, Mr. Bagis," I said, thinking he'd be pleased to hear it. Mr. Barkiss wiped his face with his cuff, then looked at it as if to see his good looks there; but he made no reply to my flattery. "I conveyed your message, Mr. Barkiss," said I, "and I wrote to Peggotty." "Ah!" said Mr. Baggis. Mr. Barkis agreed dryly, looking unhappy. "Is that correct, Mr. Barkis?" I asked, after a moment's hesitation.

"Why, no," said Mr. Baggis. "Isn't it that sentence?" "That's true, perhaps," said Mr. Baggis, "but it's over there." As I did not quite understand what he meant, I repeated his words and asked: "Is that over, Mr. Barkis?" "No results," he explained, casting a sidelong glance at me. "No reply." "You want an answer, Mr. Barkis?" I asked with wide eyes, for this was new to me. "When a man says he is willing," said Mr. Barkiss, turning his eyes slowly to me again, "it means that the man is expecting a reply."

"Oh, Mr. Baggis?" "Well," said Mr. Barkis, looking again at the horse's ear, "the man has been expecting a reply ever since." "Did you tell her that, Mr. Baggis?" "No—yes," said Mr. Barkiss, after a moment's thought, "I'm not going to tell her that. I haven't spoken to her in half a dozen sentences. I'm not going to tell her that." "Would you like me to tell her that, Mr. Barkis?" I asked hesitantly. "You may say so, if you like," said Mr. Barkis, looking slowly at me again. "Barkis is expecting a reply. Say—what's your name?"

"What's her name?" "Well!" said Mr. Baggis, nodding. "Peggotty." "A Christian name? Or a surname?" said Mr. Baggis. "Oh, that's not her Christian name, her Christian name is Clara." "Is it?" said Mr. Baggis. It seemed that all this gave him much to think about, and he sat there thinking, whistling softly, for a little while. "Hey!" he said again at last, "you say, 'Peggotty! Baggis is expecting an answer!' She may say, 'What answer?' Say, 'to what I told you A reply in one sentence.' 'What's that?' she said. 'Baggis will,' you say."

While instructing me so deftly, Mr. Barkis gave me a hard elbow on the waist.Then he looked down at the horse as usual.For half an hour he said nothing more on the matter, and then took a piece of chalk out of his pocket, and wrote "Clara Peggotty" on the hood, apparently for his own personal memorandum. of. Ah, what a strange feeling that is--when you go home to a home that isn't really home anymore, and when you come back there and find everything you see reminds me of the old happy home, The old home is already an old dream that will not reappear!The days when Mother, Peggotty, and I were so affectionate and loving to one another, when no one was in our midst, came back, and made me sad, and I wondered whether I should be glad to be home, or rather stay out and be with St. Tiftes company and forget it.But I arrived anyway, and in a short while came to the house.The old elm trees there that have lost their leaves shake their hands towards me in trembling, and the old crow's nests there are blown away piece by piece in the wind.

The coachman left my box at the garden gate and went away, leaving me there.I walked up the lane to the house, staring at the windows, lest I should see Mr. or Miss Murdstone looking down from them at every step.Still, no faces showed up.Walking to the front of the house and knowing how to open the door before dark, I walked in gently and timidly without knocking on the door. God knows what a childish memory was awakened in me when I walked into the foyer and heard my mother singing in the old living room.She sang very softly.I think when I was a little boy, I must have been lying in her arms and listening to her sing like this.This song is new, but it makes me feel so kind and full of my heart, like a long-lost friend returning.

From the lonely and brooding way my mother sang, I concluded she was there alone.So I walked in gently.She sat by the fire and nursed a baby. She pressed the baby's little hand on her neck, looked down at the baby's little face, and sang softly to the baby.I guessed right, no one else was with her. I spoke to her, and she cried out in alarm.But when she saw me, she called me her dear Weiwei, her dear child!She walked halfway across the house to meet me, knelt on the ground and kissed me, and put my head on her breast against the little man in her arms, and put the little man's hand on my mouth.

I really wish I was dead.I wish I had died feeling that way then!I was better fit for heaven then than ever. "He's your little brother," my mother said as she stroked me, "Wei Wei, my lovely child! My poor child!" Then she kissed me again and again and put her arms around my neck.While she was doing this, Peggotty came running in and sat down on the ground next to us, and ran wild with us both for another fifteen minutes or so. No one seemed to expect me to return so early, and the driver was much earlier than usual.It seemed that Mr. and Miss Murdstone were visiting some one in the neighbourhood, and would not return until evening.I had never expected the three of us to be together undisturbed; it seemed to me that the old days of kindness had returned.

We ate together by the fire.Peggotty wanted to serve us, but mother would not let her do so, but told her to eat with us.I used my brown plate with a picture of a warship at full sail, which Peggotty kept hidden somewhere when I was away, and she said she would not break it for a hundred pounds.I use my old "David" mug and my non-cutting knives and forks. As we ate, I thought it a good opportunity to tell Peggotty what Mr. Baggis had said.Before I could finish what I had to tell, she started laughing and covered her face with her apron. "Peggotty!" said the mother, "what's the matter?"

Peggotty laughed still more.My mother tried to pull her apron off, but instead she pulled it tighter and sat there as if a sack was covering her head. "What are you doing, you stupid thing?" asked the mother, laughing. "Oh, that damned man!" cried Peggotty, "he wants to marry me." "He's a good match for you, isn't he?" said the mother. "Oh! I don't know him," said Peggotty, "don't ask me. I don't want him as good as he is. I don't marry anybody." "Then why don't you tell him that, you ridiculous fellow?" said the mother. "Tell him that," replied Peggotty, looking out through the apron. "He never said a word about that to me. He knew better in his heart that if he dared to say a word to me, I would definitely slap him in the face." I believe she was redder than ever, redder than any other face.Every time she laughed for a while, she covered her face again. After two or three laughs, she continued to eat. I saw that, though my mother smiled when Peggotty noticed, she grew more serious and thoughtful.From the very beginning I noticed that she had changed.Her face was still beautiful, but it looked sad and fragile; her hands were so thin and pale, they seemed almost transparent to me.But this is not all the change I am talking about now, what I am talking about is that her temperament has changed.She became agitated.At last she laid her hand affectionately on that of her old servant, and said: "Peggotty, dear, you won't marry, will you?" "Me, ma'am?" replied Peggotty, staring. "God bless you, I shall not." "You're not going to get married soon, are you?" Mother said softly. "Never!" cried Peggotty. Mother took her hand and said: "Don't leave me, Peggotty. Stay with me. Not long, perhaps. What would I do without you? " "I'll leave you, my darling?" cried Peggotty. "I wouldn't do it anyway! Why, what's going on in your little head?" Peggotty was used to thinking of my mother sometimes. A child came to talk to it like that. But mother said nothing but thanks, and Peggotty continued in her manner: "I leave you? I think I know myself. Peggotty leave you? I should like to see her try! No, no, no," said Peggotty, folding her arms and shaking her head. "She's not that kind, my dear. If she did, some cats would be happy, but they wouldn't. They'd be more troubled. I'll stay with you till I'm a lonely Old woman, when I'm too deaf, too lame, too blind, lost all my teeth, can't speak clearly, become a piece of trash, and no one else can bother to find fault with me. I'll go to my guard , ask him to take me in." "In that case, Peggotty," said I, "I shall be glad to see you, and welcome you as a queen." "God bless your rare kindness!" cried Peggotty. "I knew you'd do that!" So she kissed me again, thanked me for my kindness, and teased Bagis with her apron over her face.After that, she took the baby out of the cradle and fed him.After that she cleared the table; and after that she changed her hat, and came in with her work-box and ruler, and the candle-end, and everything was just as it had been. We sat by the fire and talked happily.I told them what a severe Mr. Creeker was, and they took pity on me.I told them what a fine man Steerforth was, and how he protected me, and Peggotty said she would walk twenty miles to see him.When the baby woke up, I picked her up and nursed him lovingly.After he fell asleep again, I climbed up to my mother and sat down, according to the old habit that had been discontinued for a long time, with my arms around her waist, my little red face pressed against her shoulders, and I could feel her beautiful hair hanging on my body — I remember, I used to think of her hair as angel wings — how happy I was. As I sat looking at the fire, I seemed to see visions among the red-hot coals, and I was almost convinced that I had never left home at all, and that Mr. Murdstone and Miss Murdstone were nothing but visions. , as the fire fades away, everything I remember is false, only mother, Peggotty, and I are real. Peggotty darned a sock as far as she could see, and she sat with the sock on her hand like a glove, holding a needle in her right hand, which she sewed at the first flash of the fire.I can't figure out where she got all those socks to mend.From the time I lay in the cradle, she seemed to have done this kind of sewing and nothing else. "I should like to know," said Peggotty, who sometimes took an interest in the most unexpected questions, "and what about David's aunt." "Oh, Peggotty!" said my mother, coming out of her thoughts, "you are talking nonsense!" "Yes, but I do want to know, madam," said Peggotty. "What reminds you of such a man?" asked the mother. "Is there no one else in the world to think about?" "I don't know how it is," said Peggotty. "My mind can never choose who to think of. It can only be that I'm too stupid. They come and go, and they don't come or don't." Go. I want to know how she is." "You are so absurd, Peggotty," replied the mother, "that people will think you expect her to come again." "My God, please don't!" cried Peggotty. "Well, then don't talk about such unpleasant things anymore, you're a good man," said the mother. "Miss Bessie, no doubt, shut herself up in that little cottage by the sea, and will stay there forever. Anyway, , she won't bother us anymore." "No!" said Peggotty thoughtfully. "No, never again. I wonder if she will leave anything for Weiwei if she dies?" "My dear, Peggotty," replied the mother, "what a foolish woman you are! You know how much she resents the birth of this poor and dear child!" "I think she will forgive him now too," suggested Peggotty. "Why does she forgive him now?" asked the mother sharply. "He's got a brother now, I mean this," said Peggotty. The mother burst into tears at once, wondering why Peggotty dared to say such things. "As if this innocent little fellow in the cradle has done you or anyone any harm, you narrow-minded thing!" she said, "you'd better marry that coachman Baggis. Why don't you?" "It will only please Miss Murdstone if I do so," said Peggotty. "What a wicked mind you are, Peggotty!" replied the mother, "you are ridiculously jealous of Miss Murdstone. You're going to take all the keys into your custody, and you'll hand out everything, won't you? I wouldn't be surprised if you think so. But you know she does these things out of kindness and kindness! You know she does, Peggotty—you know that very well." Peggotty muttered something in a low voice, which sounded like "annoying kindness" or something, to the effect that that kindness was too much. "I know what you mean, you curmudgeon," said the mother. "I know you, Peggotty, perfectly. You know I know you, and I don't know why you don't blush like fire. But One thing at a time. It's Miss Murdstone, Peggotty, you can't avoid it. You've heard her say more than once that she thinks I'm too brainless and too--ah-ah -" "Pretty," reminded Peggotty. "So," my mother asked with a half smile, "is it my fault if she is stupid enough to say such a thing?" "No one will blame you," said Peggotty. "No one, I hope no one, of course!" replied the mother. "You have heard her say more than once that for this reason she wished to free me from these troubles. She did not think it proper for me to worry about them, I really don't know if I'm suitable for this; doesn't she always get up early and go to bed late, and walk around? Isn't she always doing all kinds of things and getting into all kinds of places-what kind of coal house , the storeroom, is there some other place I don't know? Those places can never be very comfortable—are you implying that it is not done from a kind of heart?" "I'm not suggesting at all," said Peggotty. "But you did that, Peggotty," replied the mother, "and you hinted that there was nothing else to do but work. You always hinted that you got satisfaction from it. When you spoke of Mr Murdstone's kindness—" "I never said that," said Peggotty. "No, Peggotty," said the mother; "but you hinted. That's what I told you just now. It's the worst thing about you. You hint. I said I knew you, and now You know I know you. You pretend to be contemptuous of Mr. Murdstone's kindness, and I don't believe you really do, Peggotty, and you must know how good it is as I do. Well, and how he was motivated by such good intentions. If he seemed a little hard on somebody in the past—Peggotty, you understand, and I'm sure David understands, I don't mean any of the people present— And that's all because he knows it's for someone's good. Because of me, he loves someone naturally. And acts completely for someone's good. A weak, thoughtless, childish person, and he is a firm, serious, serious person. He too," and here, her emotional nature brought tears to her face, "he also I have troubled myself a great deal; I should be very grateful to him, and submit to him in thought, and if I had not, Peggotty, I would have been sorry, reproached myself, doubted my conscience, and did not know what to do." Peggotty sat, with the sole of his stocking pressed to his chin, watching the fire in silence. "Now, Peggotty," said the mother, in a changed tone, "let's not quarrel, for I cannot bear this. You are my true friend, I know, if I have any friends in the world. I call you When something is ludicrous, or nasty, or whatever, Peggotty, I just say, you've been my true friend since you were at the gate when Mr. Copperfield first brought me up here. You've been my true friend since the day you met me." Peggotty was not slow in responding to this, and gave me a firm hug as a sign of her assent to the treaty of friendship.I believe I understood then the true nature of that conversation, but I am also convinced now that the well-meaning man who initiated and participated in it was intended to enable my mother to use those contradictory little conclusions she liked. comfort herself.This was a very clever move, for I remember my mother being much happier for the rest of the night, and Peggotty was not much against her. We had tea, and dusted the ashes, and cut the candles, and then I read to Peggotty a passage from Crocodile for the old days—she took the book out of her pocket, and I didn't know her Did you keep that book there—then we talked about Salem School, which brought me back to Steerforth, who was a great man I introduced.We were all happy; and that night, the last of those evenings of all the same joy, and the one that was destined to end that volume of my life, will never fade from my memory. It was nearly ten o'clock when the sound of wheels was heard.So we all stood up.Mother hurriedly said that it was late, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone advocated that young people go to bed early and get up early, so I had better go to bed.I kissed her, and I took the candle and went upstairs before they were in the house.When I went up to the bedroom where I had been imprisoned, it seemed to me in my childish delusion that they had brought a cold wind into the house, blowing away the old familiarity like a feather. When I came down to breakfast in the morning I was very disturbed, for I had not seen Mr. Murdstone since my felony.But there was no escape, so I went downstairs, stopped two or three times on the way down, and ran on tiptoe back to my bedroom, but at last reappeared in the drawing room. He stood with his back to the fire while Miss Murdstone was preparing the tea.He stared at me when I entered, but made no gesture of greeting. After being puzzled for a while, I went up to him and said to him, "I beg your forgiveness, sir, I regret my behavior, and I hope you will forgive me." "I'm glad to hear you say you regret it, David," he said. The hand he offered me was the one I bit.My eyes could not help stopping for a moment on the red scar; but when I saw the sinister expression on his face, my face was redder than the scar. "How do you do, miss," I said to Miss Murdstone. "Oh dear!" sighed Miss Murdstone, offering me the teaspoon in place of her finger. "How long will it be?" "One month, miss." "Since when?" "From today, miss." "Oh!" said Miss Murdstone, "that's a day gone now." She subtracts a day from her calendar every morning with this attitude, and she does it like that throughout the holidays.She always lost weight sullenly, and she lost ten days. She didn't feel hopeful until the number became double digits.As the days went by, she almost cheered up. On this very first day, by my misfortune, I threw her into a state of extreme terror, though she is not ordinarily incapable of such infirmities.I went to the room where she was sitting with my mother, and the baby, who was only a few weeks old, was on my mother's lap, so I picked him up carefully.Suddenly Miss Murdstone uttered such a scream that I nearly dropped the baby. "My dear Jane!" cried the mother. "My God, Clara, do you see that?" cried Miss Murdstone. "See what, my dear Jane?" said the mother. "Where?" "He's picked him up!" cried Miss Murdstone. "The child has picked up the baby!" She was so scared that she couldn't stand up, but she straightened up and jumped on me, snatching the baby from my arms.Then, she passed out.She suffered so badly that they had to give her some cherry brandy.After she woke up, she solemnly declared that I was forbidden to touch my brother under any pretext.My poor mother meekly (and I could see she was reluctant to do so) sanctioned the prohibition in these words: "No doubt you are right, my dear Jane." Another time, when the three of us were together again, it was this lovely baby--for my mother's sake, I thought he was really cute--that made Miss Murdstone lose her temper for no apparent reason.The baby was lying on my mother's lap, and my mother looked him in the eyes and said: "Wei Wei, come here!" So she looked into my eyes again. I saw Miss Murdstone put down her beads. "I dare say," said the mother softly, "that they are absolutely alike. I ask them to be like me, and I think they look like me, and they look like each other." "What are you talking about, Clara?" said Miss Murdstone. "My dear Jane," stammered the mother, a little apprehensive at being so questioned, "I found out that the baby's eyes look exactly like Wei Wei's." "Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, rising exasperatedly, "you are a downright fool sometimes." "My dear Jane," protested my mother. "A complete fool," said Miss Murdstone, "who else would compare my brother's son with yours? They don't look alike at all. They're not alike at all. They're not alike in every way." I hope they will always be like this. I don't want to sit here and hear people compare like this." And she walked out of the room majestically, slamming the door behind her. In short, I am not agreeable to Miss Murdstone.In a word, I am not agreeable to anyone here, not even to myself; for those who like me cannot show it, but those who dislike me can show it enough to make me keenly aware of it. Perceived and always appears cringeworthy, vulgar and obtuse. I feel that I displease them as much as they displease me.If I went to the room where they were staying, they would have been talking together, and my mother would have looked happy, but as soon as I entered her face, a cloud of sadness appeared on her face.If Mr. Murdstone was in good spirits, I spoiled his.If Miss Murdstone was in a worse mood than usual, I aggravated her unhappiness.I understand well enough to understand that my mother is always tormented; she is afraid to speak to me or to be kind to me, in order to offend them, and to be reprimanded afterward.She is not only afraid that she will offend them all day long, but she is also afraid that I will offend them, so even if I move a little, she will watch their expressions uneasily.I resolved, therefore, to avoid them as much as possible; and many a cold hour was spent sitting in my unhappy bedroom, with my little overcoat on, reading a book, and listening to the church bells. In the evening I sometimes went to sit with Peggotty in the kitchen.There, I feel comfortable and not afraid to show my true colors.But these, too, cannot be licensed in the living room.The tormenting atmosphere that hung over the living room forbade even that.They used me as a tool to train and temper my mother, and they didn't allow me to go away. "David," said Mr. Murdstone one evening, as I was leaving the drawing-room as usual, "I am sorry to find you very gloomy and withdrawn." "Lonely as a bear!" said Miss Murdstone. I stopped and lowered my head. "Why, David," said Mr. Murdstone, "gloomy and withdrawn are the worst of all temperaments." "Of all the withdrawn temperaments I have ever seen, this boy's," said his sister, "is the most obstinate and obstinate. I think, dear Clara, you must have noticed it too?" "I beg your pardon, my dear Jane," said the mother, "you are sure—I think you will forgive me, my dear Jane—do you know David?" "If I don't know the child, or any child, Clara," replied Miss Murdstone, "I should be ashamed. I don't boast of learning, but I dare say I have common sense." "No doubt, my dear Jane," replied the mother, "you have a great understanding—" "Oh, dear, don't say that! Please don't say that, Clara." Miss Murdstone interrupted her mother angrily. "But I'm sure it is," continued my mother, "and it's generally accepted, and I've learned from many sources—at least, I should—that no one is more convinced of it than I am. ; so I say it very humbly, my dear Jane, I promise." "You can say I don't understand that child, Clara," said Miss Murdstone, fiddling with the shackles on her wrists. "We can agree, if you will excuse me, that I do not understand the boy at all. He is too deep for me. But perhaps my brother's insight enables him to see something of the boy's character. I believe, He was talking about it when we - inappropriately - interrupted him." "I think, Clara," said Murdstone in a low, serious voice, "that there may be a better and more impersonal arbiter on this question than you." "Edward," replied the mother timidly, "you are far better than I, the pretended adjudicator, on any question. You and Jane are better than I am, and I'm just saying—" "You're just saying something weak and ill-considered," he replied. "Try not to do that, my dear Clara, and always be mindful of yourself." The mother's lips moved as if to say "Yes, my dear Edward." But she didn't make any sound. "I am sorry, David, I say," said Mr. Murdstone, turning his head and eyes fixed on me, "to find you gloomy and withdrawn. I cannot bear to have such a temperament develop under my nose without Make an effort to correct it. You must try, sir, to correct it. We must endeavor to correct it for you." "Excuse me, sir," I stammered, "I didn't mean to be gloomy when I got back." "Don't cover it with lies, sir!" he replied so fiercely that I saw my mother stretch out her trembling hand to separate me from him. "You hid in your room in a gloomy mood. You stayed in your room when you were supposed to be here. Now you must know, without further ado, I want you to stay here Not to stay there. Besides, I want you to obey here. You know me, David. I must do this." Miss Murdstone gave a dry chuckle. "I shall treat myself with a respectful, prompt and immediate obedience," he went on, "to Jane Murdstone, to your mother. I will not allow a child to behave as if there is a fashion in this house." Sickly back away. Sit down." He commands me like a dog and I obey like a dog. "One more thing," said he, "I noticed that you like the company of vulgar people. You are not allowed to associate with servants. You have many things to improve, but the kitchen cannot improve you. As for the woman who abetted you, I Say no more—because you, Clara," he said to my mother, in a deeper voice, "have not yet overcome the weakness of awe of her, out of old associations and ingrained delusions." "That is the most inexplicable fallacy!" cried Miss Murdstone. "All I say," he went on to me, "is that I forbid you to keep company with that maid Peggotty, and you must change that. Now, David, you know me, and you know that if you don't obey What will happen to me." I know very well—and I know better than he thinks, just because of my poor mother—that I obey him completely and never hide in my own room; to Peggotty.Day after day, I sat listlessly in the living room, looking forward to the night, so I could go to sleep. How repulsive I was to be bound, to sit in the same position for hours on end, not daring to move an arm or a leg, or Miss Murdstone would reprimand (as would she if she even had the slightest thought of it) Doing), saying that I am active; I dare not move my eyes, otherwise it will be seen as a kind of displeasure or censorship, which has become a new excuse for me to be accused!Sit there and hear the clock tick; watch Miss Murdstone wear steel balls, wonder if she'll marry, and if so, who will marry her; count the welts on the mantelpiece; How unbearably dull my eyes wandered from the ripples and spirals of the wallpaper to the ceiling! How I walked up and down the muddy alley alone in the harsh winter weather, with the drawing-room on my mind, and Mr and Miss Murdstone in the drawing-room--that was a burden I couldn't get rid of , It was a nightmare I could not get rid of, and my mind was dulled by the burden that oppressed me! What kind of food did I eat in silence and restlessness!Sitting at the dinner table, I always feel that a pair of knives and forks are redundant, and that is mine; there is a plate and a chair that are redundant, and that is mine; there is one person that is redundant, and that is me! What a night it was!When the candles were brought into the house, I should have done something, but I dared not read any interesting books, but I had to read some very hard arithmetic treatises, and the tables of weights and measures made me feel like the music of patriotic songs or love songs. Dazzling; they wouldn't stop at all for me to study properly, but pierced my head like a granny's eye for a needle, going in one ear and out the other. How I yawned and drowsy, though I tried to be careful!How I startle from my doze; how I find no answer to the little question that even occurs to my mind; how blank I seem, ignored by all and hindering by all; when nine o'clock What a relief I felt when the first bell struck and Miss Murdstone ordered me to bed at once. In this way, the holiday passed little by little.At last one morning Miss Murdstone said, "The last day is coming!" and gave me my last cup of tea of ​​that holiday. I don't feel bad about going.I was already in a state of ignorance, but began to recover a little, and think of Steerforth, in spite of Mr. Creeker's shadow behind him.Mr. Baggis was at the gate again; and as my mother bent to say good-bye to me, Miss Murdstone gave another warning: "Clara!" I kissed her, and kissed my little brother, and it was really sad, but I wasn't sad to be gone—because there was a gap between us, and we were actually apart every day.What lives in my heart is not so much her hug, but the scene after it, although she hugged me as passionately as possible. After I got into the carriage, I heard her calling me.I looked out: she was standing alone in front of the courtyard door, holding the baby up for me to see.It was cold and windless that day, she hugged the child and looked at me eagerly, her hair didn't move at all, and her clothes didn't fold. And just like that, I lost her.After that, I saw her in the same way in my sleep at school—silent beside my bed, holding the baby in her arms, still looking at me like that.