Дэвид Копперфильд

I Become Neglected, and Am Provided for

           Peggotty,lookingatmethroughthesmokeofhispipe,‘thatinthewayofbook-larninghe’dtakethewindoutofa’mostanything.’

           ‘Yes,’saidI,delighted;‘heknowseverything.Heisastonishinglyclever.’

           ‘There’safriend!’murmuredMr.Peggotty,withagravetossofhishead.

           ‘Nothingseemstocosthimanytrouble,’saidI.‘Heknowsataskifheonlylooksatit.Heisthebestcricketeryoueversaw.Hewillgiveyoualmostasmanymenasyoulikeatdraughts,andbeatyoueasily.’

           Mr.Peggottygavehisheadanothertoss,asmuchastosay:‘Ofcoursehewill.’

           ‘Heissuchaspeaker,’Ipursued,‘thathecanwinanybodyover;andIdon’tknowwhatyou’dsayifyouweretohearhimsing,Mr.Peggotty.’

           Mr.Peggottygavehisheadanothertoss,asmuchastosay:‘Ihavenodoubtofit.’

           ‘Then,he’ssuchagenerous,fine,noblefellow,’saidI,quitecarriedawaybymyfavouritetheme,‘thatit’shardlypossibletogivehimasmuchpraiseashedeserves.IamsureIcanneverfeelthankfulenoughforthegenerositywithwhichhehasprotectedme,somuchyoungerandlowerintheschoolthanhimself.’

           Iwasrunningon,veryfastindeed,whenmyeyesrestedonlittleEm’ly’sface,whichwasbentforwardoverthetable,listeningwiththedeepestattention,herbreathheld,herblueeyessparklinglikejewels,andthecolourmantlinginhercheeks.

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