Дэвид Копперфильд

I Observe

           ‘Then,howcanyoudare,’saidmymother‘youknowIdon’tmeanhowcanyoudare,Peggotty,buthowcanyouhavethehearttomakemesouncomfortableandsaysuchbitterthingstome,whenyouarewellawarethatIhaven’t,outofthisplace,asinglefriendtoturnto?’

           ‘Themore’sthereason,’returnedPeggotty,‘forsayingthatitwon’tdo.No!Thatitwon’tdo.No!Nopricecouldmakeitdo.No!’IthoughtPeggottywouldhavethrownthecandlestickaway,shewassoemphaticwithit.

           ‘Howcanyoubesoaggravating,’saidmymother,sheddingmoretearsthanbefore,‘astotalkinsuchanunjustmanner!Howcanyougoonasifitwasallsettledandarranged,Peggotty,whenItellyouoverandoveragain,youcruelthing,thatbeyondthecommonestcivilitiesnothinghaspassed!Youtalkofadmiration.WhatamItodo?Ifpeoplearesosillyastoindulgethesentiment,isitmyfault?WhatamItodo,Iaskyou?Wouldyouwishmetoshavemyheadandblackmyface,ordisfiguremyselfwithaburn,orascald,orsomethingofthatsort?Idaresayyouwould,Peggotty.Idaresayyou’dquiteenjoyit.’

           Peggottyseemedtotakethisaspersionverymuchtoheart,Ithought.

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