Дэвид Копперфильд

The Emigrants

           Iamboundtosaythatshehasneverdonemuchforme,andthatIhavenoparticularwishuponthesubject.’

           ‘Micawber,’returnedMrs.Micawber,‘there,youarewrong.Youaregoingout,Micawber,tothisdistantclime,tostrengthen,nottoweaken,theconnexionbetweenyourselfandAlbion.’

           ‘Theconnexioninquestion,mylove,’rejoinedMr.Micawber,‘hasnotlaidme,Irepeat,underthatloadofpersonalobligation,thatIamatallsensitiveastotheformationofanotherconnexion.’

           ‘Micawber,’returnedMrs.Micawber.‘There,Iagainsay,youarewrong.Youdonotknowyourpower,Micawber.Itisthatwhichwillstrengthen,eveninthisstepyouareabouttotake,theconnexionbetweenyourselfandAlbion.’

           Mr.Micawbersatinhiselbow-chair,withhiseyebrowsraised;halfreceivingandhalfrepudiatingMrs.Micawber’sviewsastheywerestated,butverysensibleoftheirforesight.

           ‘MydearMr.Copperfield,’saidMrs.Micawber,‘IwishMr.Micawbertofeelhisposition.ItappearstomehighlyimportantthatMr.Micawbershould,fromthehourofhisembarkation,feelhisposition.Youroldknowledgeofme,mydearMr.Copperfield,willhavetoldyouthatIhavenotthesanguinedispositionofMr.Micawber.Mydispositionis,ifImaysayso,eminentlypractical.Iknowthatthisisalongvoyage.Iknowthatitwillinvolvemanyprivationsandinconveniences.Icannotshutmyeyestothosefacts.ButIalsoknowwhatMr.Micawberis.

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