Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am Sent Away from Home

           

           Thenightwasnotsopleasantastheevening,foritgotchilly;andbeingputbetweentwogentlemen(therough-facedoneandanother)topreventmytumblingoffthecoach,Iwasnearlysmotheredbytheirfallingasleep,andcompletelyblockingmeup.Theysqueezedmesohardsometimes,thatIcouldnothelpcryingout,‘Oh!Ifyouplease!’whichtheydidn’tlikeatall,becauseitwokethem.Oppositemewasanelderlyladyinagreatfurcloak,wholookedinthedarkmorelikeahaystackthanalady,shewaswrappeduptosuchadegree.Thisladyhadabasketwithher,andshehadn’tknownwhattodowithit,foralongtime,untilshefoundthatonaccountofmylegsbeingshort,itcouldgounderneathme.Itcrampedandhurtmeso,thatitmademeperfectlymiserable;butifImovedintheleast,andmadeaglassthatwasinthebasketrattleagainstsomethingelse(asitwassuretodo),shegavemethecruellestpokewithherfoot,andsaid,‘Come,don’tYOUfidget.YOURbonesareyoungenough,I’msure!’

           Atlastthesunrose,andthenmycompanionsseemedtosleepeasier.Thedifficultiesunderwhichtheyhadlabouredallnight,andwhichhadfoundutteranceinthemostterrificgaspsandsnorts,arenottobeconceived.Asthesungothigher,theirsleepbecamelighter,andsotheygraduallyonebyoneawoke.Irecollectbeingverymuchsurprisedbythefeinteverybodymade,then,ofnothavingbeentosleepatall,andbytheuncommonindignationwithwhicheveryonerepelledthecharge.

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