Chapter 42 Chapter Thirty-eight

I do not allow my resolve to participate in parliamentary debates to cool down.This is one of many irons which I am heating, and which I have heated and forged with admirable tenacity.For ten and sixpence I bought a tome on that elegant shorthand technique and secret, and then plunged into a sea of ​​misery, which within a few weeks I lost my mind.Variations of dots—one meaning in one place, another meaning in another—strange hallucinations from circles, uncanny illusions from signs like flies’ legs. As a result, the major effects of a misplaced curve, etc., haunt me not only when I'm awake, but also when I'm asleep.When at last I groped my way through these difficulties, and learned the alphabet which itself constituted an Egyptian temple, I found that what followed was a frightening succession of new so-called irregular symbols, which The most brutal and unreasonable guy I've ever met.For example, they express their expectations with newly formed spider webs, and express inconveniences with meteors bursting brightly.When I put these nasty things in my head, I found that they squeezed everything else out of my head.So it all started again, and this time, I forgot them again; when I got them back, the other symbols were lost.In a word, sad.

It would be very sad if there were no Dora, who was the anchor-line and anchor of my tottering boat.Each stroke in this shorthand system is a big knotty oak tree in a difficult tree, and I just cut down one by one with such vigor. After 3 or 4 months, I actually brought a speech expert from our doctoral school to do the experiment.But before I could take notes, the orator went to the other end, and my stupid pencil stumbled across the paper like it was going crazy.I will never forget that scene. It won't work, it's obvious.I was flying too high and it was hard to continue.So I asked Traddles for advice, and he suggested that I write his speech by heart, so that I could pace it according to my childishness, and stop and think at any time.I took that advice, and was so grateful for the kind help that I held a private council in Buckingham Street, night after night (almost every night) after returning from the Doctor's.

I wish to see this kind of parliament anywhere else!My aunt and Mr. Dick represented the Government or the Opposition, as the case may be, and Traddles refuted them loudly with the aid of Enfield's Oratory or the Records of Parliamentary Speeches.Leaning against the table, pressing the pages with his fingers, waving his right arm high above his head, like Mr. Pitt, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Burke, Sir Castrie, Viscount Sidmore, or Mr. Canning, Very vehemently against my aunt and Mr. Dick's various misdemeanors; and I sat not far away, with my shorthand-book on my lap, and tried my best to keep up with him.Traddles was far more contradictory and incoherent than any real-life politician.For a week he advocated various policies, and hoisted various flags on his mast.The great-aunt looks very much like an indifferent Chancellor of the Exchequer, who only occasionally interjects when the text calls for it. "Listen," or "No!", or "Oh," and Mr. Dick (a true squire) often gave the same signal at the same time.It was only because, in this parliamentary career, Mr. Dick was beginning to strain his nerves from having to be blamed for something like that, or responsible for something so horrible.I believe he began to be genuinely afraid that he had indeed deliberately violated the Constitution or endangered the country.

-------- ①The above-mentioned people are all famous British politicians in the 18th century, and some of them are also playwrights and orators. Our kind of debate often goes on until the clock marks midnight and the candles run out and the lamps go out.With such good practice I was gradually following Traddles, and if I knew even a little of what I remembered, I would be quite flattered.However, when I read my notes after memorizing them, I feel that what I have written looks like the Chinese square characters on many tea packaging boxes, or the gold on those red and green bottles in drugstores!

Had to start all over again, no choice.It was embarrassing, but with a heavy heart I went back to work again, crawling like a snail through the same tiresome terrain; Studying every stroke of that elusive stroke, I used the most determined will to be able to recognize those elusive symbols wherever I saw them.I was always punctual at the office, and at the doctor's; I worked like a cart-horse, as it is often said. One day, when I came to the doctor's college as usual, I saw Mr. Spenlow standing in the door, looking very serious and talking to himself.Because of his short neck, and the fact that he always starched his collars (which I believe was one of the reasons), he always had headaches, so at first I thought he was having some sort of discomfort in that area again, and it was inevitable. A little surprised.But he immediately relieved me of this feeling.

He didn't answer my "Good morning" with the usual enthusiasm, but looked at me with a very distant indifference, and coldly invited me to go to a cafe with him. At that time, there was a door in this cafe The door leads directly to the doctor's house, just in the small archway of St. Paul's Church. I followed him, uneasy and hot, as if my worries were sprouting. Since the road is not wide, I let him walk a little ahead, and at this time I Seeing how haughty and hopeless he was with his head held up, I feared he had found out about me and my Dora. Even if I hadn't guessed so on the way to the café, I would have understood why when I followed him into an upstairs room and saw Miss Murdstone there.Miss Murdstone was leaning against the back of the sideboard, on which were several footless lemon cups placed upside down, and two queer boxes all round with corners or recesses for knives and forks. groove.

Miss Murdstone held out her icy fingers to me, while she sat stiffly.Mr. Spenlow closed the door, and bid me sit down, while he himself stood on the rug in front of the fire. "Miss Murdstone," said Mr. Spenlow, "will you please show Mr. Copperfield the contents of your bag?" I believe this is the same steel-toothed bag I used to have as a child, closing it like a gnashing of teeth.Miss Murdstone, with her mouth shut like the purse, opened it, and at the same time opened her mouth a little, and took out from it my lately passionate letter to Dora. "It is your handwriting, I believe, Mr. Copperfield?" said Mr. Spenlow.

I have a fever.When I say "Yes, sir," I don't think I hear my own voice. "If I am not mistaken," said Mr. Spenlow, as Miss Murdstone took from her bag again a bundle of letters bound with splendid blue ribbons, "this was written by you too. , Mr Copperfield?" I took the letters from her with the most aweful feeling, and saw on the top were written "Always my dearest and mine Dora", "My favorite angel", "I will always My most cherished" and so on, my face turned red and I lowered my head. When I handed the letter back to him mechanically, Mr. Spenlow said coldly, "No, thank you! I will not take these letters from you. Go on, Miss Murdstone, please!"

The refined man looked thoughtfully at the rug, and said bitterly: "I must confess that I had my doubts about Miss Spenlow for some time on the subject of David Copperfield. Miss Spenlow and David Copperfield met for the first time. I took notice of them at the time; then I got a bad impression. The wickedness of the human heart is so—” "Miss," interposed Mr. Spenlow, "please just state the facts." Miss Murdstone lowered her eyes and shook her head, as if in protest at the unceremonious interruption, and then said with a sour face and an air of greatness: "As I am required to speak only of the facts, I shall be obliged to state them dryly. Perhaps the order should be given. I have said, sir, that I have spoken to Miss Spenlow in the matter of David Copperfield." There have been doubts for some time. I have often tried to find proofs for these suspicions, but I have been in vain. So I refrained from mentioning it to Miss Spenlow's father," said she, looking at him now sternly, "I know that in such matters it is often difficult to appreciate acts of conscientious fidelity."

Mr. Spenlow seemed entirely taken aback by Miss Murdstone's masculine sternness, and tried to soften her sternness with a beseeching wave of his hand. "I took a period of leave on account of my brother's marriage; I returned to Norwood," continued Miss Murdstone in a contemptuous tone, "while Miss Spenlow was visiting her friend Miss Mills. When I came back, I felt that Miss Spenlow's attitude gave me more reason to be suspicious than before, so I watched Miss Spenlow closely." My dear innocent little Dora was not at all aware of the dragon's gaze. "I could find no proof," continued Miss Murdstone, "until last night. I thought Miss Spenlow had too many letters from her friend, Miss Mills; but Miss Mills was the one her father thought Very good friend," she struck Mr. Spenlow again, "I have no need to interfere. If I am not allowed to mention the inherent evil in human nature, at least I may-should be allowed to mention it. A mention of misplaced trust."

Mr. Spenlow murmured apologetically assent. "After tea last night," continued Miss Murdstone, "I saw the little dog jumping and rolling and barking in the drawing-room, biting something. I said to Miss Spenlow: 'D Why, what is the dog biting? That's paper!' Miss Spenlow thrust her hand into her gown at once, and gave a cry of surprise. I stopped her and said: 'Dora, my dear, let me do it.'" Oh, Jeep, you hateful puppy, you hateful little thing, it's all because of you! "Miss Spenlow," said Miss Murdstone, "wanted to pacify me with kisses, sewing-boxes, and small jewels--which I ignored, of course. As I approached the dog, it I shrank under the sofa. It took me a lot of trouble to drive it out of there with a torch. Although it was driven out, it still clung to the letter; I fought hard at the risk of being bitten by it. To snatch the letters, it gnawed so hard that even when I lifted it up on all fours, it would not let go. At last I got the letters. When I had read it, I was sure that Miss Spenlow had There were many more letters like this; and finally I got from her the bundle now in David Copperfield's hands." Here she paused, shutting her bag and her mouth with an air of indomitability. "You have heard Miss Murdstone," said Mr. Spenlow. "Pray, Mr. Copperfield, do you have anything to say?" I seem to see my beautiful little darling who weeps all night—see her in helpless, pitiful solitude—see her begging so earnestly for that hard-hearted woman—see her in vain Kissing the woman passionately, offering the sewing box, the jewelry—as if seeing her enduring all the embarrassment and distress solely because of me—these imaginings greatly shattered my self-esteem, which could have been somewhat cheered up.For a minute or two, I fear, I tremble all over, though I try to hide it. "All I can say," I answered, "is that it's all my fault. Dora—" "Miss Spenlow, if you please," said her father severely. "—at my persuasion," I went on, swallowing the harsher appellation, "had agreed to keep it secret, and I regret it." "You are very undeserved, sir," said Mr. Spenlow, walking up and down the fire-rug, so stiff in his cravat and back that he had to use his whole body instead of nodding. Emphasizing his words: "You have secretly committed an indecency, Mr. Copperfield. I bring a gentleman to my house, and whether he is 19, 29, or 90, I always trust him If he abuses my confidence, he has done a very disgraceful thing, Mr Copperfield." "I think so, sir, I assure you," I replied, "but I never thought of it at first. To tell you the truth, Mr. Spenlow, I never thought of it at first. I love Spinlow so much." Miss--" "Bah! Nonsense!" Mr. Spenlow blushed. "Please don't tell me you love my daughter, Mr. Copperfield!" "Can I justify my actions if I don't say so, sir?" I said humbly. "Does that justify your conduct, sir?" said Mr. Spenlow, stopping suddenly on the fire-rug. "Have you considered your age and hers, Mr. Copperfield?" Have you ever considered what it would mean to break the mutual trust that should exist between my daughter and me? Have you considered who my daughter is, what plans I have for her advancement, what will I want to leave her? Have you ever Any considerations, Mr Copperfield?" "I'm afraid I've thought very little, sir," I replied respectfully enough, with a sense of grief, "but believe me, I've thought about my own situation. When I explain it to you, we're engaged—" "I beg you," said Mr. Spenlow, clapping his hands vigorously--though I was very depressed at the moment, I couldn't help but find that he was more of a buffoon than I've ever known him--"don't tell me about engagement, Copper Mr. Phil!" Miss Murdstone, who was indifferent in all other matters, gave a short laugh of contempt. "When I explained to you my change of circumstances, sir," I began again, in a manner which did not suit him, "this secret act--it was entirely I who caused Miss Spenlow to do it, and I am sorry. —has already begun. Since I am already in the changed situation, I have tensed my nerves and used all my strength to improve the situation. I believe that I will be able to improve it in time. Will you give Have I time—how long? We're both so young, sir—” "You're right," said Mr. Spenlow, frowning. "You're both young. It's all nonsense. Stop it. Take these letters and throw them into the fire. Spinlow Miss's letter to me, also thrown into the fire. Our future association will be limited to the Doctor's College, you know, we can agree not to mention the past. So be it, Mr. Copperfield, you are not a Fools; that's the only way to do it." No, I cannot agree to this approach.I'm sorry, but there is something higher than rationality.Love transcends all earthly trade-offs. I love Dora, like idol worship, and Dora loves me too.I didn't express it so directly and decisively, but tried to be as tactful as possible.But I hinted that I was quite determined on this point.I don't think my actions are ridiculous, and I know I'm determined. "Very well, Mr. Copperfield," said Mr. Spenlow, "then I must discipline my daughter." Miss Murdstone said in a significant voice that Mr. Spenlow should have done that long ago.Her voice was a drawn breath, not a sigh or a moan, or both. "I must," said Mr. Spenlow, with this support, "must discipline my daughter. Won't you take those back, Mr. Copperfield?" For I had laid those letters on the table. " Yes, I told him, I hoped he wouldn't be angry with me for refusing to get those letters back from Miss Murdstone. "Wouldn't it be taken from me, too?" said Mr. Spenlow. Yes, I said with deep respect, and I would not take it back from him. "Very well!" said Mr. Spenlow meaningfully. A silence ensued, and I made no resolution to go or stay.Finally, I walked silently to the door.And wanted to say that in order to fully take into account his feelings, maybe I should leave.And now, putting his hand into his pocket--as best he could--he said in a tone which I could regard as very reverent: "Perhaps you know, Mr. Copperfield, that I am not without property, and that my daughter is my nearest and closest relation?" I hurriedly replied that I hope he doesn't think I'm mercenary because of my mistake of desperately loving. "I don't think so," said Mr. Spenlow. "If you're mercenary, Mr. Copperfield--I mean, if you're prudent enough to be less susceptible to some young men's rambunctious behavior, then it'll be all right for you." Better, and to all of us. No, I'm just saying it from a very different point of view, and you probably know that I've left some property to my children, don't you?" Of course I think so. "When it comes to people preparing their wills, we see all sorts of irresponsible behavior here at the Doctor's College every day—the capricious nature of man is probably never seen more fully in this respect—seeing such In the future, you probably don't think that my will will be different?" I bowed my head in agreement. "I will not permit," said Mr. Spenlow, shaking his head slowly, changing his toes and heels, and speaking with a decidedly more reverence than before, "that the proper arrangements I have made for my child should be replaced by such a The bullshit, it's all bullshit, it's totally boring. Before long, it'll be lighter than a feather. Still, if the bullshit isn't completely abandoned, maybe I—maybe I'll have to guard her in some emergency , to protect her from the consequences of any foolish marriage. Now, Mr. Copperfield, I hope you will not compel me to reopen the closed pages of the great book of life (if only by opening a quarter of an hour), and don't make me change an arrangement that has already been made (even if it only takes a quarter of an hour)." He has a calm and calm atmosphere like the evening sun, and I was deeply moved.It was touching to think that he was so quiet, so deliberate, and obviously organized his affairs.I really felt that I saw tears rise to his eyes from the depths of how deeply he felt about it all. But what can I do?I can't give up Dora and my love.How can I say I don't want to accept it, how can I say my love won't change no matter how many weeks it takes, when he tells me that it's best to take a week to think about everything he's just said? "And, consult with Miss Trotwood, or anyone with any knowledge of life," said Mr. Spenlow, straightening his cravat. "Promise a week, Mr. Copperfield." I obliged; then, with as much frustration and determination on my face as possible, I walked out of the room.Miss Murdstone's bushy eyebrows followed me to the door—I'd rather say her eyebrows than her eyes, for they were far more important in that face of hers—and she was as severe as The way she used to be every morning in our living room at Blandstone gave me a vague sense that I couldn't turn in my homework again, and reminded me that the terrible pressure on my mind was that old spelling book, It was painted with oval woodcuts like lenses. I went to the office and sat down at my desk in my special corner, keeping old Tiffy and the others out of sight with my hands, and thinking of the sudden earthquake, I cursed Kip terribly.I was in such a state of misery because of Dora that I wondered why I didn't take up my hat at once, and run madly to Norwood.It was so embarrassing to think of them frightening her and making her cry, and of me not being there to comfort her, that I wrote Mr. Spenlow a wild letter.I beseech him, never blame her for my misfortune, I beseech him, lament her tenderness, and not break a tender flower.Looking back now, the way I said that to him was not like seeing him as her father, but as a monster, or the poisonous dragon of Wantley who ate maidens in the ancient poem.I sealed the letter and put it on his desk before he came back.I picked up the letter and read it when I saw him come back through the half-open door of his room. He didn't mention the letter that morning.But that afternoon, before he left, he called me in and told me that I had absolutely nothing to worry about about her daughter's well-being.He said he had pointed it out to her that it was all nonsense; he had nothing more to say to her.He thinks he's a very permissive father (and he is), and I don't have to worry about her at all. "If you were stupid, or obstinate, Mr. Copperfield," said he, "you would make me send my daughter to live abroad for another term; but I believe you are not. I hope, in a few days You can be wiser. As for Miss Murdstone," because I mentioned her in my letter, "I respect and appreciate the vigilance of that lady; but she was told that the subject should never be brought up. All I wish, Mr Copperfield, is to forget it. All you have to do, Mr Copperfield, is to forget it." everything!In my text messages to Miss Mills, I am sad to quote this admonition.All I had to do, I said bitterly to myself, was to forget Dora.That's all, but what is that?I asked Miss Mills to receive me that evening.If Mr. Mills didn't allow me, I begged her to sneak a meeting with me in the back kitchen where the cloth gin was.I told her that my sanity was on the verge of breaking down and only she, Miss Mills, could keep it in place.I call myself her disturbed friend.I read the letter again before handing it to the footman for delivery, and found it quite Mr. Micawber's style myself. However, I sent the letter.In the evening I went to Miss Mills' street and wandered there.Finally, Miss Mills' maid smuggled me from the basement to the back kitchen.I afterwards had reason to believe that nothing could have prevented me from entering through the door and being ushered into the parlour, but simply because Miss Mills liked the undertones of mystery and legend. In the back kitchen, I'm just talking nonsense.I believe I was there just to make myself laugh, and I did.Miss Mills had had an urgent letter from Dora, telling her all was found, and saying, "Oh, do come to me, Julia, do, do!" But Miss Mills was afraid Going there would be against the wishes of those elders, so we haven't gone, so we are all trapped in the Sahara desert. Miss Mills talked eloquently, almost telling what she thought and knew.Then I could not help feeling that, though she wept with me, she took a terrible pleasure in our misery.All I can say is that she treasures our pain and uses it to the best of her abilities.She said there was an abyss between me and Dora, which love could only bridge with its own rainbow.In this cruel world, love can only suffer, has always been and will always be.That's nothing, said Miss Mills.A heart caught in a spider's web will eventually explode, and that's when love has its revenge. It was hardly consolation, but Miss Mills refused to give any encouragement to delusional expectations.She troubled me still more, and I felt that she was indeed a friend, and I told her this with great gratitude.We decided that she would go to Dora first thing in the morning, and try—by look or word—to make her understand my loyalty and my pain.We parted with heavy hearts and sorrow, and it seemed to me that Miss Mills was content. When I got home, I told my aunt all this; and though she told me as much as she could, I went to bed disheartened.I got up disheartened and went out disheartened.It was Saturday morning, and I went straight to the doctoral school. I can see the door of our office.I was astonished to see the coachmen and porters all standing outside talking, and half a dozen idlers looking in at the closed windows.I quickened my pace, speculated on their expressions, passed among them, and hurried in. The clerks are all there, but no one is working.Old Tiffy was sitting on somebody's stool, the first time I ever saw him do that, and he didn't hang up his hat. "It is a terrible disaster, Mr. Copperfield," said he, as I entered. "What's the matter?" I cried. "What's the matter?" "You don't know?" Tiffy yelled together with the others who came to me. "I don't know!" I said, looking at their faces one by one. "Mr. Spenlow," said Tiffy. "What's up with him?" "died!" I feel like the firm is shaking, not me.A clerk held me up.They helped me to a chair and sat down, untied my scarf, and brought some cold water.I don't know how long it's been like this. "Dead?" I said. "He drove the car back himself after dinner in town yesterday," said Tiffy. "He sent his coachman home first, as he's done a few times in the past, you know—" "Ok?" "When the carriage arrived home, he was not in the carriage. The horses stopped in front of the stable, and the coachman came out with a lantern, but found no one in the carriage." "Is the horse frightened?" "The horse isn't very hot," said Tiffy, putting on his glasses. "I don't think it's any hotter than usual. The rein is dragging on the ground and it's broken. The whole family was startled at once, and three of them walked down the road. Found him a mile from home." "Over a mile, Mr. Tiffy," interposed a young man. "Yeah? I think you're right," Tiffy said—"over a mile down the road, not far from the church, and he was lying there face down, half on the curb and half on the sidewalk." No one knows if he fell out of the seizure or if he got out of the car feeling sick before the seizure—whether he was dead by then, and of course he was unconscious. Even if he could Breathing, he must have been speechless. Medical assistance was sought as much as possible, but to no avail. "I cannot describe the state of mind in which this news has put me. It happened so suddenly, and to a man with whom I disagree - who was in this room not so long ago (his table and chairs seems to be waiting for him, the handwriting he left yesterday is like a ghost), and now there is a void in this room-this causes shock, and the vague feeling that he and the office are inseparable, and as soon as the door is opened, it seems that he The feeling of walking in, the quietness in the office and the atmosphere that seems to be on vacation, the co-workers talking about it, and the crowd who come in and out all day long to inquire about it, all these feelings are the same as any One can understand it. What I can't describe is that, in the deepest part of my heart, I harbor a secret envy of death. I feel that the power of death will overthrow me in Dora's heart. I can't express the jealousy Her sorrow, and the thought of her crying to other people, or being comforted by others, disturbed me. I had a greedy desire that, at the most inappropriate moment, she would forget everyone; only think of me. In this turmoil of moods--I hope, not only I understand, but others understand--I went to Norwood that night.When I asked at the door, I learned from a servant that Miss Mills was there.I wrote to her in the name of my aunt, and I mourned Mr. Spenlow's untimely death with all sincerity and tears.I begged her, if Dora would listen, to tell her that Mr. Spenlow had spoken to me with absolute kindness and understanding; and that Mr. Spenlow spoke of Dora with kindness and without reproach.I know I do it selfishly, because I just want my name to be mentioned in her presence; but I want to convince myself that I'm also doing it as a fair comment on him after his death.Maybe I really do believe it. The next day, my aunt received a brief reply letter. The envelope was written in my aunt's name, but the letter was addressed to me.Dora was very sad, and when her friend asked if she would greet me, she just cried, "Oh, dear papa! Oh, poor papa!" but she said no.So, I tried to think about it beautifully. Mr. Jorkins, who had been at Norwood since the accident, did not come to the office until a few days later.After he and Tiffy closed the door and talked secretly for a while, Tiffy opened the door to look out, beckoned to me, and told me to go in. "Oh!" said Mr. Jorkins, "Mr. Copperfield, Mr. Tiffey, and I are going through the dead man's desk, drawers, and other such places, to seal up his private papers, and to seek A will. We've looked everywhere, but we can't find a trace. If you'd like, help us find it." I was just wondering what was going on with my Dora - who had guardianship, etc. - and this was a good way to find out about that.So we started looking right away.Mr. Jorkins opened all the drawers and desks, and we took out all our papers.We keep our firm papers on one side and our personal papers on the other, which isn't too much.We were serious; we lowered our voices every time we saw a little trinket, or a pencil-case, or a ring, or anything that reminded us at once of Mr. Spenlow. We've sealed a few packages and are still working quietly in the dust that's been kicking up.Mr. Jorkins now spoke of his late partner in the same tone: "It's not easy to get Mr. Spenlow out of the way. You know what a man he is! I don't think he ever made a will." "Oh, I know he did!" I said. They both stopped and looked at me. "The day I last saw him," I said, "he told me he had done it, and it had been arranged." Both Mr. Jorkins and old Tiffy shook their heads. "It seems hopeless," Tiffy said. "It's all hopeless," said Mr. Jorkins. "Of course you don't suspect—" I began. "My dear Mr. Copperfield!" said Tiffy, putting his hand on my arm, shaking his head with his eyes closed, "if you've been in the doctor's school as long as I have, you know that people are on the subject It's so fickle, so unreliable." "Ha, my God, he said that too!" I said stubbornly. "I bet it's a foregone conclusion," said Tiffy, "I mean—no will." It seems incredible to me, but it turns out there is no will.Nor, to judge by his papers, did he think of making a will; for there was no memorandum or draft of any intention to make one.Almost as much to my amazement is the utter disarray with which his business has fallen.I heard that it was difficult to find out what he owed, what he paid and what he left.It is presumed that for several years he himself had no clear conception of the above-mentioned problems.Gradually, I also discovered that the doctoral college was the most concerned about ostentation and face at that time. He spent more in fighting for the limelight than his salary income (which was not much), so he made his own property (not too much) ) was very short-lived.Norwood once sold the furniture and leasehold; Tiffy also told me that he also cleared the deceased's legitimate debts, deducted the bad and doubtful accounts of the firm, and the remaining inheritance was less than a thousand pounds according to his estimate.Tiffy didn't know that I had a lot to do with this story, too. The matter dragged on for six weeks.During this period, I suffered a lot.Miss Mills still reported to me that my sad little Dora said of me nothing but "Oh, my poor papa! Oh, my poor papa"!Say nothing.I really want to destroy myself when I hear this.I have also been told that Dora had no relations except her two aunts (Mr. Spenlow's sisters were never married).The two aunts lived in Putney and for many years had little correspondence with their brother.Not because they had any quarrel (Miss Mills told me), but because they thought they deserved to be invited to dinner when celebrating the naming of Dora, and they were only invited to tea, so they published After submitting written comments, they wrote: "For the happiness of all", they should leave the meeting.Since then, they have not communicated with their younger brother. 现在，这两位小姐从她们的隐居处冒了出来，提出要带朵拉去帕特尼住。朵拉抱住她们哭道，“哦，是呀，姑姑！请带朱丽亚·米尔斯和我还有吉普去帕特尼吧！”于是，葬礼后不久，他们就去了那儿。 我怎么还能有时间去帕特尼？我想我肯定闹不明白。可我千方百计去那儿，在那儿徘徊。为了郑重地尽友谊的责任，米尔斯小姐开始记日记。她常常来到那儿公共地点和我见面，并把那日记带来读或借给我读（如果她没时间的话）。我把那日记摘录一部分在此，我是多么难忘它们哪！ “星期一，我可爱的朵依然苦闷。头痛。要她注意到吉的漂亮光泽。朵爱抚吉。于是勾起了联想。 忧伤之门又开了。悲痛由衷而生。（泪乃心之露珠吗？ 朱·密。 ) “星期二，朵软弱而且敏感。苍白的美。（从月亮中，我们看到的不也是这种美吗？朱·密。）朵和朱·密及吉乘车出游。吉望窗外，朝清道工狂吠不 已，朵竟为之微笑。（生命之链乃以如此细微之环而结成！朱·密。） 星期三，朵大见好转。夜眠稍安，颊始现淡红。 决定提大·科之名。于出游时谨慎提出。朵即感伤。 哦，亲爱的朱丽亚！'哦，我曾是一个不乖不孝的孩子！'予以爱抚和安慰。说明大·科已很难过。朵再次感伤。'哦，我怎么办我怎么办？哦，带我去什么地方吧！'恐慌万状。朵发晕，从酒店取水解晕。 （如诗。门柱标志光影交错，人之生涯变幻无穷。唉！ 朱·密。 ) 星期五，发生事故之日。一个带蓝提包的人来 到厨房里，来换女靴的后掌。厨子答说并无人叫。那人坚持说有，厨子便去询问，留下那人和吉在原地。 厨子回时，那人依然说有人叫过，但终于离开。吉失踪，朵发狂。Call the police.根据大鼻子和桥柱腿特征找 people.各方搜寻。吉不见。朵痛哭，无法安抚。用一幼羚代替。invalid.傍晚，陌生孩子登门。入客厅。虽鼻子硕大，无桥柱腿。称知狗所在，索价1镑。although 加逼迫，不说。朵拿出1镑后，厨子被带到一小房子，吉在房内，独自被拴于一桌腿上，看吉吃饭，朵欢喜，竟围绕其舞之。在这喜事鼓励下，又提起大 ·科。朵又哭，悲号，'哦，不要，不要，不要。不想爸爸，却想别的，太不应该了！'抱吉哭着睡去。 （大·科难道不应把自己缚在时间的宽羽之上吗？朱·密。）” 米尔斯小姐和她的日记是我这时期唯一的安慰。看看刚见过朵拉的她，在她那饱含同情的日记里找到朵拉的简称，并被她弄得越来越痛苦，这一切就是我那时所有的慰藉了。我觉得，我仿佛曾住在一座用纸牌搭成的宫殿里，这宫殿倒了，只剩下米尔斯小姐和我在一片废墟残垣中。好像残酷的术士在我心中那天真的女神周围画了道魔圈，除了能把那么多人都托着飞过那种远大距离的有力宽羽，没任何东西可以载我飞入那圈子里去。