Дэвид Копперфильд

Our Housekeeping

           

           ‘Theyareonlyopenedinbothshells,’saidI.‘Takethetoponeoff,mylove.’

           ‘Butitwon’tcomeoff!’saidDora,tryingveryhard,andlookingverymuchdistressed.

           ‘Doyouknow,Copperfield,’saidTraddles,cheerfullyexaminingthedish,‘Ithinkitisinconsequencetheyarecapitaloysters,butIthinkitisinconsequenceoftheirneverhavingbeenopened.’

           Theyneverhadbeenopened;andwehadnooyster-knivesandcouldn’thaveusedthemifwehad;sowelookedattheoystersandatethemutton.Atleastweateasmuchofitaswasdone,andmadeupwithcapers.IfIhadpermittedhim,IamsatisfiedthatTraddleswouldhavemadeaperfectsavageofhimself,andeatenaplatefulofrawmeat,toexpressenjoymentoftherepast;butIwouldhearofnosuchimmolationonthealtaroffriendship,andwehadacourseofbaconinstead;therehappening,bygoodfortune,tobecoldbaconinthelarder.

           MypoorlittlewifewasinsuchafflictionwhenshethoughtIshouldbeannoyed,andinsuchastateofjoywhenshefoundIwasnot,thatthediscomfitureIhadsubdued,verysoonvanished,andwepassedahappyevening;DorasittingwithherarmonmychairwhileTraddlesandIdiscussedaglassofwine,andtakingeveryopportunityofwhisperinginmyearthatitwassogoodofmenottobeacruel,crossoldboy.

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