Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am Sent Away from Home

           MellIsupposedtheboyswereout;butheseemedsurprisedatmynotknowingthatitwasholiday-time.Thatalltheboyswereattheirseveralhomes.ThatMr.Creakle,theproprietor,wasdownbythesea-sidewithMrs.andMissCreakle;andthatIwassentinholiday-timeasapunishmentformymisdoing,allofwhichheexplainedtomeaswewentalong.

           Igazedupontheschoolroomintowhichhetookme,asthemostforlornanddesolateplaceIhadeverseen.Iseeitnow.Alongroomwiththreelongrowsofdesks,andsixofforms,andbristlingallroundwithpegsforhatsandslates.Scrapsofoldcopy-booksandexerciseslitterthedirtyfloor.Somesilkworms’houses,madeofthesamematerials,arescatteredoverthedesks.Twomiserablelittlewhitemice,leftbehindbytheirowner,arerunningupanddowninafustycastlemadeofpasteboardandwire,lookinginallthecornerswiththeirredeyesforanythingtoeat.Abird,inacageverylittlebiggerthanhimself,makesamournfulrattlenowandtheninhoppingonhisperch,twoincheshigh,ordroppingfromit;butneithersingsnorchirps.Thereisastrangeunwholesomesmellupontheroom,likemildewedcorduroys,sweetappleswantingair,androttenbooks.Therecouldnotwellbemoreinksplashedaboutit,ifithadbeenrooflessfromitsfirstconstruction,andtheskieshadrained,snowed,hailed,andblowninkthroughthevaryingseasonsoftheyear.

           Mr.

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Roboto Lora
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