Дэвид Копперфильд

Intelligence

           Shewasquitemad,andhadtobeheldbyforce;or,ifshecouldn’thavegottoaknife,orgottothesea,she’dhavebeatenherheadagainstthemarblefloor.’

           MissDartle,leaningbackupontheseat,withalightofexultationinherface,seemedalmosttocaressthesoundsthisfellowhaduttered.

           ‘ButwhenIcametothesecondpartofwhathadbeenentrustedtome,’saidMr.Littimer,rubbinghishandsuneasily,‘whichanybodymighthavesupposedwouldhavebeen,atallevents,appreciatedasakindintention,thentheyoungwomancameoutinhertruecolours.AmoreoutrageouspersonIneverdidsee.Herconductwassurprisinglybad.Shehadnomoregratitude,nomorefeeling,nomorepatience,nomorereasoninher,thanastockorastone.IfIhadn’tbeenuponmyguard,Iamconvincedshewouldhavehadmyblood.’

           ‘Ithinkthebetterofherforit,’saidI,indignantly.

           Mr.Littimerbenthishead,asmuchastosay,‘Indeed,sir?Butyou’reyoung!’andresumedhisnarrative.

           ‘Itwasnecessary,inshort,foratime,totakeawayeverythingnighher,thatshecoulddoherself,oranybodyelse,aninjurywith,andtoshutherupclose.Notwithstandingwhich,shegotoutinthenight;forcedthelatticeofawindow,thatIhadnailedupmyself;droppedonavinethatwastrailedbelow;andneverhasbeenseenorheardof,tomyknowledge,since.

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Roboto Lora
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