Дэвид Копперфильд

My ‘First Half’ at Salem House

           Howcanyoudoittome,boys?’

           Itwasmybookthathestruckhisdeskwith;andasIstoodbesidehim,followinghiseyeasitglancedroundtheroom,Isawtheboysallstop,somesuddenlysurprised,somehalfafraid,andsomesorryperhaps.

           Steerforth’splacewasatthebottomoftheschool,attheoppositeendofthelongroom.Hewasloungingwithhisbackagainstthewall,andhishandsinhispockets,andlookedatMr.Mellwithhismouthshutupasifhewerewhistling,whenMr.Melllookedathim.

           ‘Silence,Mr.Steerforth!’saidMr.Mell.

           ‘Silenceyourself,’saidSteerforth,turningred.‘Whomareyoutalkingto?’

           ‘Sitdown,’saidMr.Mell.

           ‘Sitdownyourself,’saidSteerforth,‘andmindyourbusiness.’

           Therewasatitter,andsomeapplause;butMr.Mellwassowhite,thatsilenceimmediatelysucceeded;andoneboy,whohaddartedoutbehindhimtoimitatehismotheragain,changedhismind,andpretendedtowantapenmended.

           ‘Ifyouthink,Steerforth,’saidMr.Mell,‘thatIamnotacquaintedwiththepoweryoucanestablishoveranymindhere’helaidhishand,withoutconsideringwhathedid(asIsupposed),uponmyhead‘orthatIhavenotobservedyou,withinafewminutes,urgingyourjuniorsontoeverysortofoutrageagainstme,youaremistaken.

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