Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Dick fulfils my aunt’s Predictions

           

           ‘Well,’Ireplied,dubiously.‘Ratherso.’

           ‘Exactly!’criedMr.Dick,whoseemedquiteenchantedbymyreply.‘Thatis,Trotwood,whentheytooksomeofthetroubleoutofyou-know-who’shead,andputityouknowwhere,therewasaMr.Dickmadehistwohandsrevolveveryfastabouteachotheragreatnumberoftimes,andthenbroughtthemintocollision,androlledthemoverandoveroneanother,toexpressconfusion.‘Therewasthatsortofthingdonetomesomehow.Eh?’

           Inoddedathim,andhenoddedbackagain.

           ‘Inshort,boy,’saidMr.Dick,droppinghisvoicetoawhisper,‘Iamsimple.’

           Iwouldhavequalifiedthatconclusion,buthestoppedme.

           ‘Yes,Iam!ShepretendsIamnot.Shewon’thearofit;butIam.IknowIam.Ifshehadn’tstoodmyfriend,sir,Ishouldhavebeenshutup,toleadadismallifethesemanyyears.ButI’llprovideforher!Ineverspendthecopyingmoney.Iputitinabox.Ihavemadeawill.I’llleaveitalltoher.Sheshallberichnoble!’

           Mr.Dicktookouthispocket-handkerchief,andwipedhiseyes.Hethenfoldeditupwithgreatcare,presseditsmoothbetweenhistwohands,putitinhispocket,andseemedtoputmyauntawaywithit.

           ‘Nowyouareascholar,Trotwood,’saidMr.Dick.‘Youareafinescholar.Youknowwhatalearnedman,whatagreatman,theDoctoris.Youknowwhathonourhehasalwaysdoneme.

Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 1054 из 1418