Дэвид Копперфильд

The Sequel of My Resolution

           Somethinggood-naturedintheman’sface,asIhandeditup,encouragedmetoaskhimifhecouldtellmewhereMissTrotwoodlived;thoughIhadaskedthequestionsooften,thatitalmostdieduponmylips.

           ‘Trotwood,’saidhe.‘Letmesee.Iknowthename,too.Oldlady?’

           ‘Yes,’Isaid,‘rather.’

           ‘Prettystiffintheback?’saidhe,makinghimselfupright.

           ‘Yes,’Isaid.‘Ishouldthinkitverylikely.’

           ‘Carriesabag?’saidhe‘bagwithagooddealofroominitisgruffish,andcomesdownuponyou,sharp?’

           MyheartsankwithinmeasIacknowledgedtheundoubtedaccuracyofthisdescription.

           ‘Whythen,Itellyouwhat,’saidhe.‘Ifyougoupthere,’pointingwithhiswhiptowardstheheights,‘andkeeprightontillyoucometosomehousesfacingthesea,Ithinkyou’llhearofher.Myopinionisshewon’tstandanything,sohere’sapennyforyou.’

           Iacceptedthegiftthankfully,andboughtaloafwithit.Dispatchingthisrefreshmentbytheway,Iwentinthedirectionmyfriendhadindicated,andwalkedonagooddistancewithoutcomingtothehouseshehadmentioned.AtlengthIsawsomebeforeme;andapproachingthem,wentintoalittleshop(itwaswhatweusedtocallageneralshop,athome),andinquirediftheycouldhavethegoodnesstotellmewhereMissTrotwoodlived.

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