Дэвид Копперфильд

I Assist at an Explosion

           Ihave,inmypossession,inhishandandpocket-book,severalsimilarimitationsofMr.W.‘ssignature,hereandtheredefacedbyfire,butlegibletoanyone.Ineverattestedanysuchdocument.AndIhavethedocumentitself,inmypossession.”’UriahHeep,withastart,tookoutofhispocketabunchofkeys,andopenedacertaindrawer;then,suddenlybethoughthimselfofwhathewasabout,andturnedagaintowardsus,withoutlookinginit.

           ‘“AndIhavethedocument,”’Mr.Micawberreadagain,lookingaboutasifitwerethetextofasermon,‘“inmypossession,thatistosay,Ihad,earlythismorning,whenthiswaswritten,buthavesincerelinquishedittoMr.Traddles.”’

           ‘Itisquitetrue,’assentedTraddles.

           ‘Ury,Ury!’criedthemother,‘beumbleandmaketerms.Iknowmysonwillbeumble,gentlemen,ifyou’llgivehimtimetothink.Mr.Copperfield,I’msureyouknowthathewasalwaysveryumble,sir!’

           Itwassingulartoseehowthemotherstillheldtotheoldtrick,whenthesonhadabandoneditasuseless.

           ‘Mother,’hesaid,withanimpatientbiteatthehandkerchiefinwhichhishandwaswrapped,‘youhadbettertakeandfirealoadedgunatme.’

           ‘ButIloveyou,Ury,’criedMrs.Heep.AndIhavenodoubtshedid;orthathelovedher,howeverstrangeitmayappear;though,tobesure,theywereacongenialcouple.

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