Дэвид Копперфильд

My Holidays. Especially One Happy Afternoon

           

           Mymotherimmediatelybegantocry,andwonderedhowPeggottydaredtosaysuchathing.

           ‘Asifthispoorlittleinnocentinitscradlehadeverdoneanyharmtoyouoranybodyelse,youjealousthing!’saidshe.‘YouhadmuchbettergoandmarryMr.Barkis,thecarrier.Whydon’tyou?’

           ‘IshouldmakeMissMurdstonehappy,ifIwasto,’saidPeggotty.

           ‘Whatabaddispositionyouhave,Peggotty!’returnedmymother.‘YouareasjealousofMissMurdstoneasitispossibleforaridiculouscreaturetobe.Youwanttokeepthekeysyourself,andgiveoutallthethings,Isuppose?Ishouldn’tbesurprisedifyoudid.Whenyouknowthatsheonlydoesitoutofkindnessandthebestintentions!Youknowshedoes,Peggotty—youknowitwell.’

           Peggottymutteredsomethingtotheeffectof‘Botherthebestintentions!’andsomethingelsetotheeffectthattherewasalittletoomuchofthebestintentionsgoingon.

           ‘Iknowwhatyoumean,youcrossthing,’saidmymother.‘Iunderstandyou,Peggotty,perfectly.YouknowIdo,andIwonderyoudon’tcolouruplikefire.Butonepointatatime.MissMurdstoneisthepointnow,Peggotty,andyousha’n’tescapefromit.Haven’tyouheardhersay,overandoveragain,thatshethinksIamtoothoughtlessandtooa—a——’

           ‘Pretty,’suggestedPeggotty.

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