Мидлмарч

Chapter 11

           "

           "Ofcourseyoucancallitpoetryifyoulike."

           "Aha,MissRosy,youdon’tknowHomerfromslang.Ishallinventanewgame;Ishallwritebitsofslangandpoetryonslips,andgivethemtoyoutoseparate."

           "Dearme,howamusingitistohearyoungpeopletalk!"saidMrs.Vincy,withcheerfuladmiration.

           "Haveyougotnothingelseformybreakfast,Pritchard?"saidFred,totheservantwhobroughtincoffeeandbutteredtoast;whilehewalkedroundthetablesurveyingtheham,pottedbeef,andothercoldremnants,withanairofsilentrejection,andpoliteforbearancefromsignsofdisgust.

           "Shouldyoulikeeggs,sir?"

           "Eggs,no!Bringmeagrilledbone."

           "Really,Fred,"saidRosamond,whentheservanthadlefttheroom,"ifyoumusthavehotthingsforbreakfast,Iwishyouwouldcomedownearlier.Youcangetupatsixo’clocktogoouthunting;Icannotunderstandwhyyoufinditsodifficulttogetuponothermornings."

           "Thatisyourwantofunderstanding,Rosy.IcangetuptogohuntingbecauseIlikeit."

           "WhatwouldyouthinkofmeifIcamedowntwohoursaftereveryoneelseandorderedgrilledbone?"

           "Ishouldthinkyouwereanuncommonlyfastyounglady,"saidFred,eatinghistoastwiththeutmostcomposure.

           "Icannotseewhybrothersaretomakethemselvesdisagreeable,anymorethansisters.

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