Дэвид Копперфильд

The Sequel of My Resolution

           

           ‘Oh,mylungsandliver,’criedtheoldman,‘no!Oh,myeyes,no!Oh,mylimbs,no!Eighteenpence.Goroo!’

           Everytimeheutteredthisejaculation,hiseyesseemedtobeindangerofstartingout;andeverysentencehespoke,hedeliveredinasortoftune,alwaysexactlythesame,andmorelikeagustofwind,whichbeginslow,mountsuphigh,andfallsagain,thananyothercomparisonIcanfindforit.

           ‘Well,’saidI,gladtohaveclosedthebargain,‘I’lltakeeighteenpence.’

           ‘Oh,myliver!’criedtheoldman,throwingthejacketonashelf.‘Getoutoftheshop!Oh,mylungs,getoutoftheshop!Oh,myeyesandlimbsgoroo!don’taskformoney;makeitanexchange.’Ineverwassofrightenedinmylife,beforeorsince;butItoldhimhumblythatIwantedmoney,andthatnothingelsewasofanyusetome,butthatIwouldwaitforit,ashedesired,outside,andhadnowishtohurryhim.SoIwentoutside,andsatdownintheshadeinacorner.AndIsattheresomanyhours,thattheshadebecamesunlight,andthesunlightbecameshadeagain,andstillIsattherewaitingforthemoney.

           Thereneverwassuchanotherdrunkenmadmaninthatlineofbusiness,Ihope.Thathewaswellknownintheneighbourhood,andenjoyedthereputationofhavingsoldhimselftothedevil,Isoonunderstoodfromthevisitshereceivedfromtheboys,whocontinuallycameskirmishingabouttheshop,shoutingthatlegend,andcallingtohimtobringouthisgold.

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Roboto Lora
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