Дэвид Копперфильд

I Become Neglected, and Am Provided for

           

           ‘Theboywillbeidlethere,’saidMissMurdstone,lookingintoapickle-jar,‘andidlenessistherootofallevil.But,tobesure,hewouldbeidlehere—oranywhere,inmyopinion.’

           Peggottyhadanangryanswerready,Icouldsee;butsheswalloweditformysake,andremainedsilent.

           ‘Humph!’saidMissMurdstone,stillkeepinghereyeonthepickles;‘itisofmoreimportancethananythingelseitisofparamountimportance—thatmybrothershouldnotbedisturbedormadeuncomfortable.IsupposeIhadbettersayyes.’

           Ithankedher,withoutmakinganydemonstrationofjoy,lestitshouldinducehertowithdrawherassent.NorcouldIhelpthinkingthisaprudentcourse,sinceshelookedatmeoutofthepickle-jar,withasgreatanaccessofsournessasifherblackeyeshadabsorbeditscontents.However,thepermissionwasgiven,andwasneverretracted;forwhenthemonthwasout,PeggottyandIwerereadytodepart.

           Mr.BarkiscameintothehouseforPeggotty’sboxes.Ihadneverknownhimtopassthegarden-gatebefore,butonthisoccasionhecameintothehouse.Andhegavemealookasheshoulderedthelargestboxandwentout,whichIthoughthadmeaninginit,ifmeaningcouldeverbesaidtofinditswayintoMr.Barkis’svisage.

           Peggottywasnaturallyinlowspiritsatleavingwhathadbeenherhomesomanyyears,andwherethetwostrongattachmentsofherlife—formymotherandmyself—hadbeenformed.

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