["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> If the room to which my bed was removed were a sentient thing that could\ngive evidence, I might appeal to it at this day--who sleeps there now,\nI wonder!--to bear witness for me what a heavy heart I carried to it. I went up there, hearing the dog in the yard bark after me all the way\nwhile I climbed the stairs; and, looking as blank and strange upon the\nroom as the room looked upon me, sat down with my small hands crossed,\nand thought. I thought of the oddest things. Of the shape of the room, of the\ncracks in the ceiling, of the paper on the walls, of the flaws in\nthe window-glass making ripples and dimples on the prospect, of the\nwashing-stand being rickety on its three legs, and having a discontented\nsomething about it, which reminded me of Mrs. Gummidge under the\ninfluence of the old one. I was crying all the time, but, except that I\nwas conscious of being cold and dejected, I am sure I never thought\nwhy I cried. At last in my desolation I began to consider that I was\ndreadfully in love with little Em'ly, and had been torn away from her to\ncome here where no one seemed to want me, or to care about me, half as\nmuch as she did. This made such a very miserable piece of business of\nit, that I rolled myself up in a corner of the counterpane, and cried\nmyself to sleep. I was awoke by somebody saying 'Here he is!' and uncovering my hot head. My mother and Peggotty had come to look for me, and it was one of them\nwho had done it. 'Davy,' said my mother. 'What's the matter?' I thought it was very strange that she should ask me, and answered,\n'Nothing.' I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my trembling\nlip, which answered her with greater truth. 'Davy,' said my mother. 'Davy, my child!' I dare say no words she could have uttered would have affected me\nso much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in the\nbedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would have\nraised me up. 'This is your doing, Peggotty, you cruel thing!' said my mother. 'I have\nno doubt at all about it. How can you reconcile it to your conscience,\nI wonder, to prejudice my own boy against me, or against anybody who is\ndear to me? What do you mean by it, Peggotty?' Poor Peggotty lifted up her hands and eyes, and only answered, in a\nsort of paraphrase of the grace I usually repeated after dinner, 'Lord\nforgive you, Mrs. Copperfield, and for what you have said this minute,\nmay you never be truly sorry!' 'It's enough to distract me,' cried my mother. 'In my honeymoon, too,\nwhen my most inveterate enemy might relent, one would think, and not\nenvy me a little peace of mind and happiness. Davy, you naughty boy! Peggotty, you savage creature! Oh, dear me!' cried my mother, turning\nfrom one of us to the other, in her pettish wilful manner, 'what a\ntroublesome world this is, when one has the most right to expect it to\nbe as agreeable as possible!' I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor Peggotty's,\nand slipped to my feet at the bed-side. It was Mr. Murdstone's hand, and\nhe kept it on my arm as he said:\n\n'What's this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten?--Firmness, my dear!' 'I am very sorry, Edward,' said my mother. 'I meant to be very good, but\nI am so uncomfortable.' 'Indeed!' he answered. 'That's a bad hearing, so soon, Clara.' 'I say it's very hard I should be made so now,' returned my mother,\npouting; 'and it is--very hard--isn't it?' He drew her to him, whispered in her ear, and kissed her. I knew as\nwell, when I saw my mother's head lean down upon his shoulder, and her\narm touch his neck--I knew as well that he could mould her pliant nature\ninto any form he chose, as I know, now, that he did it. 'Go you below, my love,' said Mr. Murdstone. 'David and I will come\ndown, together. My friend,' turning a darkening face on Peggotty, when\nhe had watched my mother out, and dismissed her with a nod and a smile;\n'do you know your mistress's name?' 'She has been my mistress a long time, sir,' answered Peggotty, 'I ought\nto know it.' 'That's true,' he answered. 'But I thought I heard you, as\nI came upstairs, address her by a name that is not hers. She has taken\nmine, you know. Will you remember that?' Peggotty, with some uneasy glances at me, curtseyed herself out of the\nroom without replying; seeing, I suppose, that she was expected to go,\nand had no excuse for remaining. When we two were left alone, he shut\nthe door, and sitting on a chair, and holding me standing before him,\nlooked steadily into my eyes. I felt my own attracted, no less steadily,\nto his. As I recall our being opposed thus, face to face, I seem again\nto hear my heart beat fast and high. 'David,' he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, 'if I\nhave an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?' 'I don't know.' 'I beat him.' I had answered in a kind of breathless whisper, but I felt, in my\nsilence, that my breath was shorter now. 'I make him wince, and smart. I say to myself, \"I'll conquer that\nfellow\"; and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should do\nit. What is that upon your face?' 'Dirt,' I said. He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked the\nquestion twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my baby\nheart would have burst before I would have told him so. 'You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow,' he said,\nwith a grave smile that belonged to him, 'and you understood me very\nwell, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me.' He pointed to the washing-stand, which I had made out to be like Mrs.\nGummidge, and motioned me with his head to obey him directly. I had\nlittle doubt then, and I have less doubt now, that he would have knocked\nme down without the least compunction, if I had hesitated. 'Clara, my dear,' he said, when I had done his bidding, and he walked me\ninto the parlour, with his hand still on my arm; 'you will not be made\nuncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve our youthful\nhumours.' God help me, I might have been improved for my whole life, I might have\nbeen made another creature perhaps, for life, by a kind word at that\nseason. A word of encouragement and explanation, of pity for my childish\nignorance, of welcome home, of reassurance to me that it was home, might\nhave made me dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead of in my\nhypocritical outside, and might have made me respect instead of hate\nhim. I thought my mother was sorry to see me standing in the room so\nscared and strange, and that, presently, when I stole to a chair, she\nfollowed me with her eyes more sorrowfully still--missing, perhaps, some\nfreedom in my childish tread--but the word was not spoken, and the time\nfor it was gone. We dined alone, we three together. He seemed to be very fond of my\nmother--I am afraid I liked him none the better for that--and she was\nvery fond of him. I gathered from what they said, that an elder sister\nof his was coming to stay with them, and that she was expected that\nevening. I am not certain whether I found out then, or afterwards, that,\nwithout being actively concerned in any business, he had some share in,\nor some annual charge upon the profits of, a wine-merchant's house\nin London, with which his family had been connected from his\ngreat-grandfather's time, and in which his sister had a similar\ninterest; but I may mention it in this place, whether or no. After dinner, when we were sitting by the fire, and I was meditating an\nescape to Peggotty without having the hardihood to slip away, lest\nit should offend the master of the house, a coach drove up to the\ngarden-gate and he went out to receive the visitor. My mother followed\nhim.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I was timidly following her, when she turned round at the parlour\ndoor, in the dusk, and taking me in her embrace as she had been used to\ndo, whispered me to love my new father and be obedient to him. She did\nthis hurriedly and secretly, as if it were wrong, but tenderly; and,\nputting out her hand behind her, held mine in it, until we came near\nto where he was standing in the garden, where she let mine go, and drew\nhers through his arm. It was Miss Murdstone who was arrived, and a gloomy-looking lady she\nwas; dark, like her brother, whom she greatly resembled in face and\nvoice; and with very heavy eyebrows, nearly meeting over her large nose,\nas if, being disabled by the wrongs of her sex from wearing whiskers,\nshe had carried them to that account. She brought with her two\nuncompromising hard black boxes, with her initials on the lids in hard\nbrass nails. When she paid the coachman she took her money out of a hard\nsteel purse, and she kept the purse in a very jail of a bag which hung\nupon her arm by a heavy chain, and shut up like a bite. I had never, at\nthat time, seen such a metallic lady altogether as Miss Murdstone was. She was brought into the parlour with many tokens of welcome, and there\nformally recognized my mother as a new and near relation. Then she\nlooked at me, and said:\n\n'Is that your boy, sister-in-law?' My mother acknowledged me. 'Generally speaking,' said Miss Murdstone, 'I don't like boys. How d'ye\ndo, boy?' Under these encouraging circumstances, I replied that I was very well,\nand that I hoped she was the same; with such an indifferent grace, that\nMiss Murdstone disposed of me in two words:\n\n'Wants manner!' Having uttered which, with great distinctness, she begged the favour of\nbeing shown to her room, which became to me from that time forth a place\nof awe and dread, wherein the two black boxes were never seen open or\nknown to be left unlocked, and where (for I peeped in once or twice when\nshe was out) numerous little steel fetters and rivets, with which Miss\nMurdstone embellished herself when she was dressed, generally hung upon\nthe looking-glass in formidable array. As well as I could make out, she had come for good, and had no intention\nof ever going again. She began to 'help' my mother next morning, and was\nin and out of the store-closet all day, putting things to rights, and\nmaking havoc in the old arrangements. Almost the first remarkable thing\nI observed in Miss Murdstone was, her being constantly haunted by\na suspicion that the servants had a man secreted somewhere on the\npremises. Under the influence of this delusion, she dived into the\ncoal-cellar at the most untimely hours, and scarcely ever opened the\ndoor of a dark cupboard without clapping it to again, in the belief that\nshe had got him. Though there was nothing very airy about Miss Murdstone, she was a\nperfect Lark in point of getting up. She was up (and, as I believe\nto this hour, looking for that man) before anybody in the house was\nstirring. Peggotty gave it as her opinion that she even slept with one\neye open; but I could not concur in this idea; for I tried it myself\nafter hearing the suggestion thrown out, and found it couldn't be done. On the very first morning after her arrival she was up and ringing her\nbell at cock-crow. When my mother came down to breakfast and was going\nto make the tea, Miss Murdstone gave her a kind of peck on the cheek,\nwhich was her nearest approach to a kiss, and said:\n\n'Now, Clara, my dear, I am come here, you know, to relieve you of all\nthe trouble I can. You're much too pretty and thoughtless'--my mother\nblushed but laughed, and seemed not to dislike this character--'to have\nany duties imposed upon you that can be undertaken by me. If you'll be\nso good as give me your keys, my dear, I'll attend to all this sort of\nthing in future.' From that time, Miss Murdstone kept the keys in her own little jail all\nday, and under her pillow all night, and my mother had no more to do\nwith them than I had. My mother did not suffer her authority to pass from her without a shadow\nof protest. One night when Miss Murdstone had been developing certain\nhousehold plans to her brother, of which he signified his approbation,\nmy mother suddenly began to cry, and said she thought she might have\nbeen consulted. 'Clara!' said Mr. Murdstone sternly. 'Clara! I wonder at you.' 'Oh, it's very well to say you wonder, Edward!' cried my mother, 'and\nit's very well for you to talk about firmness, but you wouldn't like it\nyourself.' Firmness, I may observe, was the grand quality on which both Mr. and\nMiss Murdstone took their stand. However I might have expressed\nmy comprehension of it at that time, if I had been called upon, I\nnevertheless did clearly comprehend in my own way, that it was another\nname for tyranny; and for a certain gloomy, arrogant, devil's humour,\nthat was in them both. The creed, as I should state it now, was this. Mr. Murdstone was firm; nobody in his world was to be so firm as Mr.\nMurdstone; nobody else in his world was to be firm at all, for everybody\nwas to be bent to his firmness. Miss Murdstone was an exception. She might be firm, but only by relationship, and in an inferior and\ntributary degree. My mother was another exception. She might be firm,\nand must be; but only in bearing their firmness, and firmly believing\nthere was no other firmness upon earth. 'It's very hard,' said my mother, 'that in my own house--'\n\n'My own house?' repeated Mr. Murdstone. 'Clara!' 'OUR own house, I mean,' faltered my mother, evidently frightened--'I\nhope you must know what I mean, Edward--it's very hard that in YOUR own\nhouse I may not have a word to say about domestic matters. I am sure\nI managed very well before we were married. There's evidence,' said my\nmother, sobbing; 'ask Peggotty if I didn't do very well when I wasn't\ninterfered with!' 'Edward,' said Miss Murdstone, 'let there be an end of this. I go\ntomorrow.' 'Jane Murdstone,' said her brother, 'be silent! How dare you to\ninsinuate that you don't know my character better than your words\nimply?' 'I am sure,' my poor mother went on, at a grievous disadvantage, and\nwith many tears, 'I don't want anybody to go. I should be very\nmiserable and unhappy if anybody was to go. I don't ask much. I am not\nunreasonable. I only want to be consulted sometimes. I am very much\nobliged to anybody who assists me, and I only want to be consulted as a\nmere form, sometimes. I thought you were pleased, once, with my being a\nlittle inexperienced and girlish, Edward--I am sure you said so--but you\nseem to hate me for it now, you are so severe.' 'Edward,' said Miss Murdstone, again, 'let there be an end of this. I go\ntomorrow.' 'Jane Murdstone,' thundered Mr. Murdstone. 'Will you be silent? How dare\nyou?' Miss Murdstone made a jail-delivery of her pocket-handkerchief, and held\nit before her eyes. 'Clara,' he continued, looking at my mother, 'you surprise me! You\nastound me! Yes, I had a satisfaction in the thought of marrying\nan inexperienced and artless person, and forming her character, and\ninfusing into it some amount of that firmness and decision of which\nit stood in need. But when Jane Murdstone is kind enough to come to my\nassistance in this endeavour, and to assume, for my sake, a condition\nsomething like a housekeeper's, and when she meets with a base return--'\n\n'Oh, pray, pray, Edward,' cried my mother, 'don't accuse me of being\nungrateful. I am sure I am not ungrateful. No one ever said I was\nbefore. I have many faults, but not that. Oh, don't, my dear!' 'When Jane Murdstone meets, I say,' he went on, after waiting until my\nmother was silent, 'with a base return, that feeling of mine is chilled\nand altered.' 'Don't, my love, say that!' implored my mother very piteously. 'Oh, don't, Edward! I can't bear to hear it. Whatever I am, I am\naffectionate.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-03, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I know I am affectionate. I wouldn't say it, if I\nwasn't sure that I am. Ask Peggotty. I am sure she'll tell you I'm\naffectionate.' 'There is no extent of mere weakness, Clara,' said Mr. Murdstone in\nreply, 'that can have the least weight with me. You lose breath.' 'Pray let us be friends,' said my mother, 'I couldn't live under\ncoldness or unkindness. I am so sorry. I have a great many defects, I\nknow, and it's very good of you, Edward, with your strength of mind, to\nendeavour to correct them for me. Jane, I don't object to anything. I\nshould be quite broken-hearted if you thought of leaving--' My mother\nwas too much overcome to go on. 'Jane Murdstone,' said Mr. Murdstone to his sister, 'any harsh words\nbetween us are, I hope, uncommon. It is not my fault that so unusual an\noccurrence has taken place tonight. I was betrayed into it by another. Nor is it your fault. You were betrayed into it by another. Let us both\ntry to forget it. And as this,' he added, after these magnanimous words,\n'is not a fit scene for the boy--David, go to bed!' I could hardly find the door, through the tears that stood in my eyes. I was so sorry for my mother's distress; but I groped my way out, and\ngroped my way up to my room in the dark, without even having the heart\nto say good night to Peggotty, or to get a candle from her. When her\ncoming up to look for me, an hour or so afterwards, awoke me, she said\nthat my mother had gone to bed poorly, and that Mr. and Miss Murdstone\nwere sitting alone. Going down next morning rather earlier than usual, I paused outside the\nparlour door, on hearing my mother's voice. She was very earnestly and\nhumbly entreating Miss Murdstone's pardon, which that lady granted, and\na perfect reconciliation took place. I never knew my mother afterwards\nto give an opinion on any matter, without first appealing to Miss\nMurdstone, or without having first ascertained by some sure means, what\nMiss Murdstone's opinion was; and I never saw Miss Murdstone, when out\nof temper (she was infirm that way), move her hand towards her bag as\nif she were going to take out the keys and offer to resign them to my\nmother, without seeing that my mother was in a terrible fright. The gloomy taint that was in the Murdstone blood, darkened the Murdstone\nreligion, which was austere and wrathful. I have thought, since,\nthat its assuming that character was a necessary consequence of Mr.\nMurdstone's firmness, which wouldn't allow him to let anybody off from\nthe utmost weight of the severest penalties he could find any excuse\nfor. Be this as it may, I well remember the tremendous visages with\nwhich we used to go to church, and the changed air of the place. Again,\nthe dreaded Sunday comes round, and I file into the old pew first, like\na guarded captive brought to a condemned service. Again, Miss Murdstone,\nin a black velvet gown, that looks as if it had been made out of a pall,\nfollows close upon me; then my mother; then her husband. There is no\nPeggotty now, as in the old time. Again, I listen to Miss Murdstone\nmumbling the responses, and emphasizing all the dread words with a cruel\nrelish. Again, I see her dark eyes roll round the church when she says\n'miserable sinners', as if she were calling all the congregation names. Again, I catch rare glimpses of my mother, moving her lips timidly\nbetween the two, with one of them muttering at each ear like low\nthunder. Again, I wonder with a sudden fear whether it is likely that\nour good old clergyman can be wrong, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone right,\nand that all the angels in Heaven can be destroying angels. Again, if I\nmove a finger or relax a muscle of my face, Miss Murdstone pokes me with\nher prayer-book, and makes my side ache. Yes, and again, as we walk home, I note some neighbours looking at my\nmother and at me, and whispering. Again, as the three go on arm-in-arm,\nand I linger behind alone, I follow some of those looks, and wonder if\nmy mother's step be really not so light as I have seen it, and if the\ngaiety of her beauty be really almost worried away. Again, I wonder\nwhether any of the neighbours call to mind, as I do, how we used to\nwalk home together, she and I; and I wonder stupidly about that, all the\ndreary dismal day. There had been some talk on occasions of my going to boarding-school. Mr. and Miss Murdstone had originated it, and my mother had of course\nagreed with them. Nothing, however, was concluded on the subject yet. In the meantime, I learnt lessons at home. Shall I ever forget those\nlessons! They were presided over nominally by my mother, but really by\nMr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always present, and found them\na favourable occasion for giving my mother lessons in that miscalled\nfirmness, which was the bane of both our lives. I believe I was kept\nat home for that purpose. I had been apt enough to learn, and willing\nenough, when my mother and I had lived alone together. I can faintly\nremember learning the alphabet at her knee. To this day, when I look\nupon the fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty of their\nshapes, and the easy good-nature of O and Q and S, seem to present\nthemselves again before me as they used to do. But they recall no\nfeeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, I seem to have walked\nalong a path of flowers as far as the crocodile-book, and to have been\ncheered by the gentleness of my mother's voice and manner all the\nway. But these solemn lessons which succeeded those, I remember as the\ndeath-blow of my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. They\nwere very long, very numerous, very hard--perfectly unintelligible,\nsome of them, to me--and I was generally as much bewildered by them as I\nbelieve my poor mother was herself. Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again. I come into the second-best parlour after breakfast, with my books,\nand an exercise-book, and a slate. My mother is ready for me at her\nwriting-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair\nby the window (though he pretends to be reading a book), or as Miss\nMurdstone, sitting near my mother stringing steel beads. The very sight\nof these two has such an influence over me, that I begin to feel the\nwords I have been at infinite pains to get into my head, all sliding\naway, and going I don't know where. I wonder where they do go, by the\nby? I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a grammar, perhaps a\nhistory, or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I give\nit into her hand, and start off aloud at a racing pace while I have\ngot it fresh. I trip over a word. Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip\nover another word. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble over\nhalf-a-dozen words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the book\nif she dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly:\n\n'Oh, Davy, Davy!' 'Now, Clara,' says Mr. Murdstone, 'be firm with the boy. Don't say, \"Oh,\nDavy, Davy!\" That's childish. He knows his lesson, or he does not know\nit.' 'He does NOT know it,' Miss Murdstone interposes awfully. 'I am really afraid he does not,' says my mother. 'Then, you see, Clara,' returns Miss Murdstone, 'you should just give\nhim the book back, and make him know it.' 'Yes, certainly,' says my mother; 'that is what I intend to do, my dear\nJane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't be stupid.' I obey the first clause of the injunction by trying once more, but am\nnot so successful with the second, for I am very stupid. I tumble down\nbefore I get to the old place, at a point where I was all right before,\nand stop to think. But I can't think about the lesson.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I think of the\nnumber of yards of net in Miss Murdstone's cap, or of the price of Mr.\nMurdstone's dressing-gown, or any such ridiculous problem that I have\nno business with, and don't want to have anything at all to do with. Mr.\nMurdstone makes a movement of impatience which I have been expecting\nfor a long time. Miss Murdstone does the same. My mother glances\nsubmissively at them, shuts the book, and lays it by as an arrear to be\nworked out when my other tasks are done. There is a pile of these arrears very soon, and it swells like a rolling\nsnowball. The bigger it gets, the more stupid I get. The case is so\nhopeless, and I feel that I am wallowing in such a bog of nonsense, that\nI give up all idea of getting out, and abandon myself to my fate. The\ndespairing way in which my mother and I look at each other, as I blunder\non, is truly melancholy. But the greatest effect in these miserable\nlessons is when my mother (thinking nobody is observing her) tries\nto give me the cue by the motion of her lips. At that instant, Miss\nMurdstone, who has been lying in wait for nothing else all along, says\nin a deep warning voice:\n\n'Clara!' My mother starts, colours, and smiles faintly. Mr. Murdstone comes out\nof his chair, takes the book, throws it at me or boxes my ears with it,\nand turns me out of the room by the shoulders. Even when the lessons are done, the worst is yet to happen, in the shape\nof an appalling sum. This is invented for me, and delivered to me orally\nby Mr. Murdstone, and begins, 'If I go into a cheesemonger's shop, and\nbuy five thousand double-Gloucester cheeses at fourpence-halfpenny each,\npresent payment'--at which I see Miss Murdstone secretly overjoyed. I pore over these cheeses without any result or enlightenment until\ndinner-time, when, having made a Mulatto of myself by getting the dirt\nof the slate into the pores of my skin, I have a slice of bread to help\nme out with the cheeses, and am considered in disgrace for the rest of\nthe evening. It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if my unfortunate studies\ngenerally took this course. I could have done very well if I had been\nwithout the Murdstones; but the influence of the Murdstones upon me was\nlike the fascination of two snakes on a wretched young bird. Even when\nI did get through the morning with tolerable credit, there was not\nmuch gained but dinner; for Miss Murdstone never could endure to see me\nuntasked, and if I rashly made any show of being unemployed, called her\nbrother's attention to me by saying, 'Clara, my dear, there's nothing\nlike work--give your boy an exercise'; which caused me to be clapped\ndown to some new labour, there and then. As to any recreation with other\nchildren of my age, I had very little of that; for the gloomy theology\nof the Murdstones made all children out to be a swarm of little vipers\n(though there WAS a child once set in the midst of the Disciples), and\nheld that they contaminated one another. The natural result of this treatment, continued, I suppose, for some six\nmonths or more, was to make me sullen, dull, and dogged. I was not\nmade the less so by my sense of being daily more and more shut out and\nalienated from my mother. I believe I should have been almost stupefied\nbut for one circumstance. It was this. My father had left a small collection of books in a little\nroom upstairs, to which I had access (for it adjoined my own) and which\nnobody else in our house ever troubled. From that blessed little room,\nRoderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, the\nVicar of Wakefield, Don Quixote, Gil Blas, and Robinson Crusoe, came\nout, a glorious host, to keep me company. They kept alive my fancy, and\nmy hope of something beyond that place and time,--they, and the Arabian\nNights, and the Tales of the Genii,--and did me no harm; for whatever\nharm was in some of them was not there for me; I knew nothing of it. It\nis astonishing to me now, how I found time, in the midst of my porings\nand blunderings over heavier themes, to read those books as I did. It\nis curious to me how I could ever have consoled myself under my\nsmall troubles (which were great troubles to me), by impersonating my\nfavourite characters in them--as I did--and by putting Mr. and Miss\nMurdstone into all the bad ones--which I did too. I have been Tom Jones\n(a child's Tom Jones, a harmless creature) for a week together. I have\nsustained my own idea of Roderick Random for a month at a stretch, I\nverily believe. I had a greedy relish for a few volumes of Voyages and\nTravels--I forget what, now--that were on those shelves; and for days\nand days I can remember to have gone about my region of our house,\narmed with the centre-piece out of an old set of boot-trees--the perfect\nrealization of Captain Somebody, of the Royal British Navy, in danger of\nbeing beset by savages, and resolved to sell his life at a great price. The Captain never lost dignity, from having his ears boxed with the\nLatin Grammar. I did; but the Captain was a Captain and a hero, in\ndespite of all the grammars of all the languages in the world, dead or\nalive. This was my only and my constant comfort. When I think of it, the\npicture always rises in my mind, of a summer evening, the boys at play\nin the churchyard, and I sitting on my bed, reading as if for life. Every barn in the neighbourhood, every stone in the church, and every\nfoot of the churchyard, had some association of its own, in my mind,\nconnected with these books, and stood for some locality made famous in\nthem. I have seen Tom Pipes go climbing up the church-steeple; I have\nwatched Strap, with the knapsack on his back, stopping to rest himself\nupon the wicket-gate; and I know that Commodore Trunnion held that club\nwith Mr. Pickle, in the parlour of our little village alehouse. The reader now understands, as well as I do, what I was when I came to\nthat point of my youthful history to which I am now coming again. One morning when I went into the parlour with my books, I found my\nmother looking anxious, Miss Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone\nbinding something round the bottom of a cane--a lithe and limber cane,\nwhich he left off binding when I came in, and poised and switched in the\nair. 'I tell you, Clara,' said Mr. Murdstone, 'I have been often flogged\nmyself.' 'To be sure; of course,' said Miss Murdstone. 'Certainly, my dear Jane,' faltered my mother, meekly. 'But--but do you\nthink it did Edward good?' 'Do you think it did Edward harm, Clara?' asked Mr. Murdstone, gravely. 'That's the point,' said his sister. To this my mother returned, 'Certainly, my dear Jane,' and said no more. I felt apprehensive that I was personally interested in this dialogue,\nand sought Mr. Murdstone's eye as it lighted on mine. 'Now, David,' he said--and I saw that cast again as he said it--'you\nmust be far more careful today than usual.' He gave the cane another\npoise, and another switch; and having finished his preparation of it,\nlaid it down beside him, with an impressive look, and took up his book. This was a good freshener to my presence of mind, as a beginning. I felt\nthe words of my lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by line,\nbut by the entire page; I tried to lay hold of them; but they seemed,\nif I may so express it, to have put skates on, and to skim away from me\nwith a smoothness there was no checking. We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in with an idea of\ndistinguishing myself rather, conceiving that I was very well prepared;\nbut it turned out to be quite a mistake. Book after book was added to\nthe heap of failures, Miss Murdstone being firmly watchful of us all the\ntime. And when we came at last to the five thousand cheeses (canes he\nmade it that day, I remember), my mother burst out crying. 'Clara!' said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice. 'I am not quite well, my dear Jane, I think,' said my mother.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I saw him wink, solemnly, at his sister, as he rose and said, taking up\nthe cane:\n\n'Why, Jane, we can hardly expect Clara to bear, with perfect firmness,\nthe worry and torment that David has occasioned her today. That would be\nstoical. Clara is greatly strengthened and improved, but we can hardly\nexpect so much from her. David, you and I will go upstairs, boy.' As he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. Miss Murdstone\nsaid, 'Clara! are you a perfect fool?' and interfered. I saw my mother\nstop her ears then, and I heard her crying. He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely--I am certain he had a\ndelight in that formal parade of executing justice--and when we got\nthere, suddenly twisted my head under his arm. 'Mr. Murdstone! Sir!' I cried to him. 'Don't! Pray don't beat me! I have\ntried to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone are\nby. I can't indeed!' 'Can't you, indeed, David?' he said. 'We'll try that.' He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him somehow, and stopped\nhim for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only a moment\nthat I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and in\nthe same instant I caught the hand with which he held me in my mouth,\nbetween my teeth, and bit it through. It sets my teeth on edge to think\nof it. He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the\nnoise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out--I\nheard my mother crying out--and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the\ndoor was locked outside; and I was lying, fevered and hot, and torn, and\nsore, and raging in my puny way, upon the floor. How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness\nseemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when my\nsmart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel! I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawled\nup from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and\nugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and\nmade me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I\nfelt. It lay heavier on my breast than if I had been a most atrocious\ncriminal, I dare say. It had begun to grow dark, and I had shut the window (I had been lying,\nfor the most part, with my head upon the sill, by turns crying, dozing,\nand looking listlessly out), when the key was turned, and Miss Murdstone\ncame in with some bread and meat, and milk. These she put down upon the\ntable without a word, glaring at me the while with exemplary firmness,\nand then retired, locking the door after her. Long after it was dark I sat there, wondering whether anybody else would\ncome. When this appeared improbable for that night, I undressed, and\nwent to bed; and, there, I began to wonder fearfully what would be done\nto me. Whether it was a criminal act that I had committed? Whether I\nshould be taken into custody, and sent to prison? Whether I was at all\nin danger of being hanged? I never shall forget the waking, next morning; the being cheerful and\nfresh for the first moment, and then the being weighed down by the stale\nand dismal oppression of remembrance. Miss Murdstone reappeared before\nI was out of bed; told me, in so many words, that I was free to walk in\nthe garden for half an hour and no longer; and retired, leaving the door\nopen, that I might avail myself of that permission. I did so, and did so every morning of my imprisonment, which lasted five\ndays. If I could have seen my mother alone, I should have gone down on\nmy knees to her and besought her forgiveness; but I saw no one, Miss\nMurdstone excepted, during the whole time--except at evening prayers in\nthe parlour; to which I was escorted by Miss Murdstone after everybody\nelse was placed; where I was stationed, a young outlaw, all alone by\nmyself near the door; and whence I was solemnly conducted by my jailer,\nbefore any one arose from the devotional posture. I only observed that\nmy mother was as far off from me as she could be, and kept her face\nanother way so that I never saw it; and that Mr. Murdstone's hand was\nbound up in a large linen wrapper. The length of those five days I can convey no idea of to any one. They\noccupy the place of years in my remembrance. The way in which I listened\nto all the incidents of the house that made themselves audible to me;\nthe ringing of bells, the opening and shutting of doors, the murmuring\nof voices, the footsteps on the stairs; to any laughing, whistling, or\nsinging, outside, which seemed more dismal than anything else to me in\nmy solitude and disgrace--the uncertain pace of the hours, especially\nat night, when I would wake thinking it was morning, and find that the\nfamily were not yet gone to bed, and that all the length of night had\nyet to come--the depressed dreams and nightmares I had--the return of\nday, noon, afternoon, evening, when the boys played in the churchyard,\nand I watched them from a distance within the room, being ashamed to\nshow myself at the window lest they should know I was a prisoner--the\nstrange sensation of never hearing myself speak--the fleeting intervals\nof something like cheerfulness, which came with eating and drinking,\nand went away with it--the setting in of rain one evening, with a fresh\nsmell, and its coming down faster and faster between me and the church,\nuntil it and gathering night seemed to quench me in gloom, and fear, and\nremorse--all this appears to have gone round and round for years instead\nof days, it is so vividly and strongly stamped on my remembrance. On the\nlast night of my restraint, I was awakened by hearing my own name spoken\nin a whisper. I started up in bed, and putting out my arms in the dark,\nsaid:\n\n'Is that you, Peggotty?' There was no immediate answer, but presently I heard my name again, in a\ntone so very mysterious and awful, that I think I should have gone into\na fit, if it had not occurred to me that it must have come through the\nkeyhole. I groped my way to the door, and putting my own lips to the keyhole,\nwhispered: 'Is that you, Peggotty dear?' 'Yes, my own precious Davy,' she replied. 'Be as soft as a mouse, or the\nCat'll hear us.' I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, and was sensible of the\nurgency of the case; her room being close by. 'How's mama, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with me?' I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the keyhole, as I was\ndoing on mine, before she answered. 'No. Not very.' 'What is going to be done with me, Peggotty dear? Do you know?' 'School. Near London,' was Peggotty's answer. I was obliged to get her\nto repeat it, for she spoke it the first time quite down my throat,\nin consequence of my having forgotten to take my mouth away from the\nkeyhole and put my ear there; and though her words tickled me a good\ndeal, I didn't hear them. 'When, Peggotty?' 'Tomorrow.' 'Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes out of my\ndrawers?' which she had done, though I have forgotten to mention it. 'Yes,' said Peggotty. 'Box.' 'Shan't I see mama?' 'Yes,' said Peggotty. 'Morning.' Then Peggotty fitted her mouth close to the keyhole, and delivered these\nwords through it with as much feeling and earnestness as a keyhole\nhas ever been the medium of communicating, I will venture to assert:\nshooting in each broken little sentence in a convulsive little burst of\nits own. 'Davy, dear. If I ain't been azackly as intimate with you. Lately, as I\nused to be. It ain't because I don't love you. Just as well and more, my\npretty poppet. It's because I thought it better for you. And for someone\nelse besides. Davy, my darling, are you listening? Can you hear?' 'Ye-ye-ye-yes, Peggotty!' I sobbed. 'My own!' said Peggotty, with infinite compassion.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'What I want to say,\nis. That you must never forget me. For I'll never forget you. And I'll\ntake as much care of your mama, Davy. As ever I took of you. And I won't\nleave her. The day may come when she'll be glad to lay her poor head. On her stupid, cross old Peggotty's arm again. And I'll write to you,\nmy dear. Though I ain't no scholar. And I'll--I'll--' Peggotty fell to\nkissing the keyhole, as she couldn't kiss me. 'Thank you, dear Peggotty!' said I. 'Oh, thank you! Thank you! Will you\npromise me one thing, Peggotty? Will you write and tell Mr. Peggotty and\nlittle Em'ly, and Mrs. Gummidge and Ham, that I am not so bad as they\nmight suppose, and that I sent 'em all my love--especially to little\nEm'ly? Will you, if you please, Peggotty?' The kind soul promised, and we both of us kissed the keyhole with the\ngreatest affection--I patted it with my hand, I recollect, as if it had\nbeen her honest face--and parted. From that night there grew up in my\nbreast a feeling for Peggotty which I cannot very well define. She did\nnot replace my mother; no one could do that; but she came into a vacancy\nin my heart, which closed upon her, and I felt towards her something\nI have never felt for any other human being. It was a sort of comical\naffection, too; and yet if she had died, I cannot think what I should\nhave done, or how I should have acted out the tragedy it would have been\nto me. In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared as usual, and told me I was going\nto school; which was not altogether such news to me as she supposed. She\nalso informed me that when I was dressed, I was to come downstairs into\nthe parlour, and have my breakfast. There, I found my mother, very pale\nand with red eyes: into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from my\nsuffering soul. 'Oh, Davy!' she said. 'That you could hurt anyone I love! Try to be\nbetter, pray to be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved, Davy,\nthat you should have such bad passions in your heart.' They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was more\nsorry for that than for my going away. I felt it sorely. I tried to eat\nmy parting breakfast, but my tears dropped upon my bread-and-butter,\nand trickled into my tea. I saw my mother look at me sometimes, and then\nglance at the watchful Miss Murdstone, and than look down, or look away. 'Master Copperfield's box there!' said Miss Murdstone, when wheels were\nheard at the gate. I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she; neither she nor Mr. Murdstone\nappeared. My former acquaintance, the carrier, was at the door. The box\nwas taken out to his cart, and lifted in. 'Clara!' said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note. 'Ready, my dear Jane,' returned my mother. 'Good-bye, Davy. You are\ngoing for your own good. Good-bye, my child. You will come home in the\nholidays, and be a better boy.' 'Clara!' Miss Murdstone repeated. 'Certainly, my dear Jane,' replied my mother, who was holding me. 'I\nforgive you, my dear boy. God bless you!' 'Clara!' Miss Murdstone repeated. Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say on\nthe way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; and\nthen I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-11", "answer": "David, Mrs. Copperfield, Peggotty, Mr. Murdstone, Miss Jane Murdstone, Rookery, honeymoon, new marriage, emotional abuse, household affairs, dismissal of Peggotty, beating, cane, flogging, dead father's novels, escape into imagination, isolation, locked room, guilt, bite Mr. Murdstone, bandaged hand, five days imprisonment, evening prayers, boarding school, London, parting with Peggotty, forgiveness, disappointment, wicked boy, holidays, cart, bad end, strained mother-son relationship, Murdstones' control, criticism, reciting lessons, comfort in books, secret hug, fear, authority, punishment, physical abuse, psychological abuse, keyhole whisper, promise to write, affection for Peggotty"}]