Дэвид Копперфильд

The Sequel of My Resolution

           Iaddressedmyselftoamanbehindthecounter,whowasweighingsomericeforayoungwoman;butthelatter,takingtheinquirytoherself,turnedroundquickly.

           ‘Mymistress?’shesaid.‘Whatdoyouwantwithher,boy?’

           ‘Iwant,’Ireplied,‘tospeaktoher,ifyouplease.’

           ‘Tobegofher,youmean,’retortedthedamsel.

           ‘No,’Isaid,‘indeed.’ButsuddenlyrememberingthatintruthIcamefornootherpurpose,Iheldmypeaceinconfusion,andfeltmyfaceburn.

           Myaunt’shandmaid,asIsupposedshewasfromwhatshehadsaid,putherriceinalittlebasketandwalkedoutoftheshop;tellingmethatIcouldfollowher,ifIwantedtoknowwhereMissTrotwoodlived.Ineedednosecondpermission;thoughIwasbythistimeinsuchastateofconsternationandagitation,thatmylegsshookunderme.Ifollowedtheyoungwoman,andwesooncametoaveryneatlittlecottagewithcheerfulbow-windows:infrontofit,asmallsquaregravelledcourtorgardenfullofflowers,carefullytended,andsmellingdeliciously.

           ‘ThisisMissTrotwood’s,’saidtheyoungwoman.‘Nowyouknow;andthat’sallIhavegottosay.

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