Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Memorable Birthday

           Idon’tknowwhatgoodhethoughtitwoulddome,forIhadoneofmyown:butitwasallhehadtolend,poorfellow,exceptasheetofletter-paperfullofskeletons;andthathegavemeatparting,asasootherofmysorrowsandacontributiontomypeaceofmind.

           IleftSalemHouseuponthemorrowafternoon.IlittlethoughtthenthatIleftit,nevertoreturn.Wetravelledveryslowlyallnight,anddidnotgetintoYarmouthbeforenineorteno’clockinthemorning.IlookedoutforMr.Barkis,buthewasnotthere;andinsteadofhimafat,short-winded,merry-looking,littleoldmaninblack,withrustylittlebunchesofribbonsatthekneesofhisbreeches,blackstockings,andabroad-brimmedhat,camepuffinguptothecoachwindow,andsaid:

           ‘MasterCopperfield?’

           ‘Yes,sir.’

           ‘Willyoucomewithme,youngsir,ifyouplease,’hesaid,openingthedoor,‘andIshallhavethepleasureoftakingyouhome.’

           Iputmyhandinhis,wonderingwhohewas,andwewalkedawaytoashopinanarrowstreet,onwhichwaswrittenOMER,DRAPER,TAILOR,HABERDASHER,FUNERALFURNISHER,&c.Itwasacloseandstiflinglittleshop;fullofallsortsofclothing,madeandunmade,includingonewindowfullofbeaver-hatsandbonnets.Wewentintoalittleback-parlourbehindtheshop,wherewefoundthreeyoungwomenatworkonaquantityofblackmaterials,whichwereheapeduponthetable,andlittlebitsandcuttingsofwhichwerelitteredalloverthefloor.

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