Дэвид Копперфильд

I Begin Life on My Own Account, and Don’t Like it

           

           Ithankedhimwithallmyheart,foritwasfriendlyinhimtooffertotakethattrouble.

           ‘Atwhathour,’saidMr.Micawber,‘shallI

           ‘Atabouteight,’saidMr.Quinion.

           ‘Atabouteight,’saidMr.Micawber.‘Ibegtowishyougoodday,Mr.Quinion.Iwillintrudenolonger.’

           Soheputonhishat,andwentoutwithhiscaneunderhisarm:veryupright,andhummingatunewhenhewasclearofthecounting-house.

           Mr.QuinionthenformallyengagedmetobeasusefulasIcouldinthewarehouseofMurdstoneandGrinby,atasalary,Ithink,ofsixshillingsaweek.Iamnotclearwhetheritwassixorseven.Iaminclinedtobelieve,frommyuncertaintyonthishead,thatitwassixatfirstandsevenafterwards.Hepaidmeaweekdown(fromhisownpocket,Ibelieve),andIgaveMealysixpenceoutofittogetmytrunkcarriedtoWindsorTerracethatnight:itbeingtooheavyformystrength,smallasitwas.Ipaidsixpencemoreformydinner,whichwasameatpieandaturnataneighbouringpump;andpassedthehourwhichwasallowedforthatmeal,inwalkingaboutthestreets.

           Attheappointedtimeintheevening,Mr.Micawberreappeared.Iwashedmyhandsandface,todothegreaterhonourtohisgentility,andwewalkedtoourhouse,asIsupposeImustnowcallit,together;Mr.

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