Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am Sent Away from Home

           

           ‘Ifyou’reMasterMurdstone,’saidthelady,‘whydoyougoandgiveanothername,first?’

           Iexplainedtotheladyhowitwas,whothanrangabell,andcalledout,‘William!showthecoffee-room!’uponwhichawaitercamerunningoutofakitchenontheoppositesideoftheyardtoshowit,andseemedagooddealsurprisedwhenhewasonlytoshowittome.

           Itwasalargelongroomwithsomelargemapsinit.IdoubtifIcouldhavefeltmuchstrangerifthemapshadbeenrealforeigncountries,andIcastawayinthemiddleofthem.Ifeltitwastakingalibertytositdown,withmycapinmyhand,onthecornerofthechairnearestthedoor;andwhenthewaiterlaidaclothonpurposeforme,andputasetofcastorsonit,IthinkImusthaveturnedredalloverwithmodesty.

           Hebroughtmesomechops,andvegetables,andtookthecoversoffinsuchabouncingmannerthatIwasafraidImusthavegivenhimsomeoffence.Buthegreatlyrelievedmymindbyputtingachairformeatthetable,andsaying,veryaffably,‘Now,six-foot!comeon!’

           Ithankedhim,andtookmyseatattheboard;butfounditextremelydifficulttohandlemyknifeandforkwithanythinglikedexterity,ortoavoidsplashingmyselfwiththegravy,whilehewasstandingopposite,staringsohard,andmakingmeblushinthemostdreadfulmannereverytimeIcaughthiseye.Afterwatchingmeintothesecondchop,hesaid:

           ‘There’shalfapintofaleforyou.

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