Дэвид Копперфильд

My ‘First Half’ at Salem House

           Peggottybecameinspiredwhenhethoughtofhislittlefavourite.Hestandsbeforemeagain,hisbluffhairyfaceirradiatingwithajoyfulloveandpride,forwhichIcanfindnodescription.Hishonesteyesfireup,andsparkle,asiftheirdepthswerestirredbysomethingbright.Hisbroadchestheaveswithpleasure.Hisstrongloosehandsclenchthemselves,inhisearnestness;andheemphasizeswhathesayswitharightarmthatshows,inmypigmyview,likeasledge-hammer.

           Hamwasquiteasearnestashe.Idaresaytheywouldhavesaidmuchmoreabouther,iftheyhadnotbeenabashedbytheunexpectedcominginofSteerforth,who,seeingmeinacornerspeakingwithtwostrangers,stoppedinasonghewassinging,andsaid:‘Ididn’tknowyouwerehere,youngCopperfield!’(foritwasnottheusualvisitingroom)andcrossedbyusonhiswayout.

           IamnotsurewhetheritwasintheprideofhavingsuchafriendasSteerforth,orinthedesiretoexplaintohimhowIcametohavesuchafriendasMr.Peggotty,thatIcalledtohimashewasgoingaway.ButIsaid,modestlyGoodHeaven,howitallcomesbacktomethislongtimeafterwards!

           ‘Don’tgo,Steerforth,ifyouplease.ThesearetwoYarmouthboatmen—verykind,goodpeople—whoarerelationsofmynurse,andhavecomefromGravesendtoseeme.’

           ‘Aye,aye?’saidSteerforth,returning.‘Iamgladtoseethem.

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