Дэвид Копперфильд

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           ‘Well!’saidTraddles,‘wearepreparedtoroughit,asIsaidjustnow,andwedidimproviseabedlastweek,uponthefloorhere.Butthere’salittleroomintheroofaveryniceroom,whenyou’reuptherewhichSophypaperedherself,tosurpriseme;andthat’sourroomatpresent.It’sacapitallittlegipsysortofplace.There’squiteaviewfromit.’

           ‘Andyouarehappilymarriedatlast,mydearTraddles!’saidI.‘HowrejoicedIam!’

           ‘Thankyou,mydearCopperfield,’saidTraddles,asweshookhandsoncemore.‘Yes,Iamashappyasit’spossibletobe.There’syouroldfriend,yousee,’saidTraddles,noddingtriumphantlyattheflower-potandstand;‘andthere’sthetablewiththemarbletop!Alltheotherfurnitureisplainandserviceable,youperceive.Andastoplate,Lordblessyou,wehaven’tsomuchasatea-spoon.’

           ‘Alltobeearned?’saidI,cheerfully.

           ‘Exactlyso,’repliedTraddles,‘alltobeearned.Ofcoursewehavesomethingintheshapeoftea-spoons,becausewestirourtea.Butthey’reBritanniametal.”

           ‘Thesilverwillbethebrighterwhenitcomes,’saidI.

           ‘Theverythingwesay!’criedTraddles.‘Yousee,mydearCopperfield,’fallingagainintothelowconfidentialtone,‘afterIhaddeliveredmyargumentinDOEdem.

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