Дэвид Копперфильд

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

           Micawber’scompliments,andIwashisyoungfriend,andwouldCaptainHopkinslendmeaknifeandfork.

           CaptainHopkinslentmetheknifeandfork,withhiscomplimentstoMr.Micawber.Therewasaverydirtyladyinhislittleroom,andtwowangirls,hisdaughters,withshockheadsofhair.IthoughtitwasbettertoborrowCaptainHopkins’sknifeandfork,thanCaptainHopkins’scomb.TheCaptainhimselfwasinthelastextremityofshabbiness,withlargewhiskers,andanold,oldbrowngreat-coatwithnoothercoatbelowit.Isawhisbedrolledupinacorner;andwhatplatesanddishesandpotshehad,onashelf;andIdivined(Godknowshow)thatthoughthetwogirlswiththeshockheadsofhairwereCaptainHopkins’schildren,thedirtyladywasnotmarriedtoCaptainHopkins.Mytimidstationonhisthresholdwasnotoccupiedmorethanacoupleofminutesatmost;butIcamedownagainwithallthisinmyknowledge,assurelyastheknifeandforkwereinmyhand.

           Therewassomethinggipsy-likeandagreeableinthedinner,afterall.ItookbackCaptainHopkins’sknifeandforkearlyintheafternoon,andwenthometocomfortMrs.Micawberwithanaccountofmyvisit.Shefaintedwhenshesawmereturn,andmadealittlejugofegg-hotafterwardstoconsoleuswhilewetalkeditover.

           Idon’tknowhowthehouseholdfurniturecametobesoldforthefamilybenefit,orwhosoldit,exceptthatIdidnot.

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