Дэвид Копперфильд

Our Housekeeping

           

           ‘There’sagoodchild,’saidDora,‘itmakesitsfacesomuchprettiertolaugh.’‘But,mylove,’saidI.

           ‘No,no!please!’criedDora,withakiss,‘don’tbeanaughtyBlueBeard!Don’tbeserious!’

           ‘mypreciouswife,’saidI,‘wemustbeserioussometimes.Come!Sitdownonthischair,closebesideme!Givemethepencil!There!Nowletustalksensibly.Youknow,dear’;whatalittlehanditwastohold,andwhatatinywedding-ringitwastosee!‘Youknow,mylove,itisnotexactlycomfortabletohavetogooutwithoutone’sdinner.Now,isit?’

           ‘N-n-no!’repliedDora,faintly.

           ‘Mylove,howyoutremble!’

           ‘BecauseIKNOWyou’regoingtoscoldme,’exclaimedDora,inapiteousvoice.

           ‘Mysweet,Iamonlygoingtoreason.’

           ‘Oh,butreasoningisworsethanscolding!’exclaimedDora,indespair.‘Ididn’tmarrytobereasonedwith.IfyoumeanttoreasonwithsuchapoorlittlethingasIam,yououghttohavetoldmeso,youcruelboy!’

           ItriedtopacifyDora,butsheturnedawayherface,andshookhercurlsfromsidetoside,andsaid,‘Youcruel,cruelboy!’somanytimes,thatIreallydidnotexactlyknowwhattodo:soItookafewturnsupanddowntheroominmyuncertainty,andcamebackagain.

           ‘Dora,mydarling!’

           ‘No,Iamnotyourdarling.

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