Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am Involved in Mystery

           ‘Ithasbeenmylot,’heobserved,‘tomeet,inthediversifiedpanoramaofhumanexistence,withanoccasionaloasis,butneverwithonesogreen,sogushing,asthepresent!’

           AtanothertimeIshouldhavebeenamusedbythis;butIfeltthatwewereallconstrainedanduneasy,andIwatchedMr.Micawbersoanxiously,inhisvacillationsbetweenanevidentdispositiontorevealsomething,andacounter-dispositiontorevealnothing,thatIwasinaperfectfever.Traddles,sittingontheedgeofhischair,withhiseyeswideopen,andhishairmoreemphaticallyerectthanever,staredbyturnsatthegroundandatMr.Micawber,withoutsomuchasattemptingtoputinaword.Myaunt,thoughIsawthathershrewdestobservationwasconcentratedonhernewguest,hadmoreusefulpossessionofherwitsthaneitherofus;forsheheldhiminconversation,andmadeitnecessaryforhimtotalk,whetherhelikeditornot.

           ‘Youareaveryoldfriendofmynephew’s,Mr.Micawber,’saidmyaunt.‘IwishIhadhadthepleasureofseeingyoubefore.’

           ‘Madam,’returnedMr.Micawber,‘IwishIhadhadthehonourofknowingyouatanearlierperiod.Iwasnotalwaysthewreckyouatpresentbehold.’

           ‘IhopeMrs.Micawberandyourfamilyarewell,sir,’saidmyaunt.

           Mr.Micawberinclinedhishead.‘Theyareaswell,ma’am,’hedesperatelyobservedafterapause,‘asAliensandOutcastscaneverhopetobe.

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