لخّصلي

My first memory is of a churchyard.He limped and shivered and glared and growled.Then he limped over to me, grabbed my arms, and tilted me backward.My sobs filled the churchyard."Keep still, you little devil, or I'll eut your throat!"Leg irons bound his ankles.I pointed at the gravestone."My sister, sir-Mrs. Joe Gargery-wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."I was only seven years old, and I was frightened of the graves that were all around me. My father and mother were buried there.A man was hiding behind one of the gravestones!The man came toward me. He was wet and muddy."Don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded."Pip," I said, "Pip, sir."I pointed to our village.My pockets were empty except for one piece of bread, which fell to the ground.Then the prisoner sat me on a gravestone."Boy," he said between bites, "where's your mother?"I said, pointing to the gravestone over the man's shoulder."There, sir," I explained, timidly.he muttered."Blacksmith, eh?"He looked down at his leg irons.He looked powerfully down into my eyes.I looked helplessly up into his.I began to cry."What's that noise?"

My first memory is of a churchyard. I was only seven years old, and I was frightened of the graves that were all around me. My father and mother were buried there. I began to cry. My sobs filled the churchyard.
"What's that noise?" cried a terrible voice.
A man was hiding behind one of the gravestones!
"Keep still, you little devil, or I'll eut your throat!"
The man came toward me. He was wet and muddy. Leg irons bound his ankles. He limped and shivered and glared and growled. He was an escaped prisoner.
All at once, the stranger grabbed me by the chin.
"Don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded.
"Tell me your name! Quick!"
"Pip," I said, "Pip, sir."
"Show me where you live," said the man. "Point out the place."
I pointed to our village. It was about a mile from the church and twenty miles from
the sea.
Suddenly the man picked me up and turned me upside down! My pockets were empty except for one piece of bread, which fell to the ground.
Then the prisoner sat me on a gravestone. He tore into the bread like a starving animal.
"Boy," he said between bites, "where's your mother?"
"There, sir!" I said, pointing to the gravestone over the man's shoulder.
The man was terrified. He thought my mother was standing behind him!
He started to run past me. Then he stopped and quickly looked over his shoulder.
"There, sir," I explained, timidly.
I pointed at the gravestone. "That's my mother. And that's my father lying beside her."
"Ha!" he muttered. "Who do you live with, then?"
"My sister, sir-Mrs. Joe Gargery-wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."
"Blacksmith, eh?" he said. He looked down at his leg irons. Then he limped over to me, grabbed my arms, and tilted me backward. He looked powerfully down into my eyes. I looked helplessly up into his.