Дэвид Копперфильд

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           Happening,however,asIstoppedtolisten,toputmyfootinaholewheretheHonourableSocietyofGray’sInnhadleftaplankdeficient,Ifelldownwithsomenoise,andwhenIrecoveredmyfootingallwassilent.

           Gropingmywaymorecarefully,fortherestofthejourney,myheartbeathighwhenIfoundtheouterdoor,whichhadMr.TRADDLESpaintedonit,open.Iknocked.Aconsiderablescufflingwithinensued,butnothingelse.Ithereforeknockedagain.

           Asmallsharp-lookinglad,half-footboyandhalf-clerk,whowasverymuchoutofbreath,butwholookedatmeasifhedefiedmetoproveitlegally,presentedhimself.

           ‘IsMr.Traddleswithin?’Isaid.

           ‘Yes,sir,buthe’sengaged.’

           ‘Iwanttoseehim.’

           Afteramoment’ssurveyofme,thesharp-lookingladdecidedtoletmein;andopeningthedoorwiderforthatpurpose,admittedme,first,intoalittleclosetofahall,andnextintoalittlesitting-room;whereIcameintothepresenceofmyoldfriend(alsooutofbreath),seatedatatable,andbendingoverpapers.

           ‘GoodGod!’criedTraddles,lookingup.‘It’sCopperfield!’andrushedintomyarms,whereIheldhimtight.

           ‘Allwell,mydearTraddles?’

           ‘Allwell,mydear,dearCopperfield,andnothingbutgoodnews!’

           Wecriedwithpleasure,bothofus.

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