Дэвид Копперфильд

My Aunt Makes up Her Mind About Me

           

           ‘Itisacomforttoyouandme,ma’am,’saidmyaunt,‘whoaregettingoninlife,andarenotlikelytobemadeunhappybyourpersonalattractions,thatnobodycansaythesameofus.’

           ‘Nodoubt!’returnedMissMurdstone,though,Ithought,notwithaveryreadyorgraciousassent.‘Anditcertainlymighthavebeen,asyousay,abetterandhappierthingformybrotherifhehadneverenteredintosuchamarriage.Ihavealwaysbeenofthatopinion.’

           ‘Ihavenodoubtyouhave,’saidmyaunt.‘Janet,’ringingthebell,‘mycomplimentstoMr.Dick,andbeghimtocomedown.’

           Untilhecame,myauntsatperfectlyuprightandstiff,frowningatthewall.Whenhecame,myauntperformedtheceremonyofintroduction.

           ‘Mr.Dick.Anoldandintimatefriend.Onwhosejudgement,’saidmyaunt,withemphasis,asanadmonitiontoMr.Dick,whowasbitinghisforefingerandlookingratherfoolish,‘Irely.’

           Mr.Dicktookhisfingeroutofhismouth,onthishint,andstoodamongthegroup,withagraveandattentiveexpressionofface.

           MyauntinclinedherheadtoMr.Murdstone,whowenton:

           ‘MissTrotwood:onthereceiptofyourletter,Iconsidereditanactofgreaterjusticetomyself,andperhapsofmorerespecttoyou-’

           ‘Thankyou,’saidmyaunt,stilleyeinghimkeenly.‘Youneedn’tmindme.

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