Дэвид Копперфильд

My Holidays. Especially One Happy Afternoon

           Iwasstillheldtobenecessarytomypoormother’straining,and,asoneofhertrials,couldnotbesufferedtoabsentmyself.

           ‘David,’saidMr.Murdstone,onedayafterdinnerwhenIwasgoingtoleavetheroomasusual;‘Iamsorrytoobservethatyouareofasullendisposition.’

           ‘Assulkyasabear!’saidMissMurdstone.

           Istoodstill,andhungmyhead.

           ‘Now,David,’saidMr.Murdstone,‘asullenobduratedispositionis,ofalltempers,theworst.’

           ‘Andtheboy’sis,ofallsuchdispositionsthateverIhaveseen,’remarkedhissister,‘themostconfirmedandstubborn.Ithink,mydearClara,evenyoumustobserveit?’

           ‘Ibegyourpardon,mydearJane,’saidmymother,‘butareyouquitesureIamcertainyou’llexcuseme,mydearJanethatyouunderstandDavy?’

           ‘Ishouldbesomewhatashamedofmyself,Clara,’returnedMissMurdstone,‘ifIcouldnotunderstandtheboy,oranyboy.Idon’tprofesstobeprofound;butIdolayclaimtocommonsense.’

           ‘Nodoubt,mydearJane,’returnedmymother,‘yourunderstandingisveryvigorous

           ‘Ohdear,no!Praydon’tsaythat,Clara,’interposedMissMurdstone,angrily.

           ‘ButIamsureitis,’resumedmymother;‘andeverybodyknowsitis.

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