Дэвид Копперфильд

The Sequel of My Resolution

           AsIlaiddownmypen,amomentsince,tothinkofit,theairfromtheseacameblowinginagain,mixedwiththeperfumeoftheflowers;andIsawtheold-fashionedfurniturebrightlyrubbedandpolished,myaunt’sinviolablechairandtablebytheroundgreenfaninthebow-window,thedrugget-coveredcarpet,thecat,thekettle-holder,thetwocanaries,theoldchina,thepunchbowlfullofdriedrose-leaves,thetallpressguardingallsortsofbottlesandpots,and,wonderfullyoutofkeepingwiththerest,mydustyselfuponthesofa,takingnoteofeverything.

           Janethadgoneawaytogetthebathready,whenmyaunt,tomygreatalarm,becameinonemomentrigidwithindignation,andhadhardlyvoicetocryout,‘Janet!Donkeys!’

           Uponwhich,Janetcamerunningupthestairsasifthehousewereinflames,dartedoutonalittlepieceofgreeninfront,andwarnedofftwosaddle-donkeys,lady-ridden,thathadpresumedtosethoofuponit;whilemyaunt,rushingoutofthehouse,seizedthebridleofathirdanimalladenwithabestridingchild,turnedhim,ledhimforthfromthosesacredprecincts,andboxedtheearsoftheunluckyurchininattendancewhohaddaredtoprofanethathallowedground.

           TothishourIdon’tknowwhethermyaunthadanylawfulrightofwayoverthatpatchofgreen;butshehadsettleditinherownmindthatshehad,anditwasallthesametoher.Theonegreatoutrageofherlife,demandingtobeconstantlyavenged,wasthepassageofadonkeyoverthatimmaculatespot.

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