Заметки и мысли (Максим Взоров)

Читаю со студентом «Дэвида Копперфильда». Рассказчик (Дэвид) описывает своё раннее детство, сад возле дома: And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed bedroom-windows standing open to let in the sweet-smell- ing air, and the ragged old rooks’-nests still dangling in the elm-trees at the bottom of the front garden. Now I am in the garden at the back, beyond the yard where the empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are - a very preserve of but- terflies, as I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate and padlock; where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and rich- er than fruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where my mother gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting furtive gooseberries, and trying to look unmoved. A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the par- lour. When my mother is out of breath and rests herself in an elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls round her fingers, and straitening her waist, and nobody knows better than I do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty. Сколько здесь лиризма и звукописи! Это очень хорошо читать вслух.