Дэвид Копперфильд

My Aunt Makes up Her Mind About Me

           ‘Unfortunatebaby!’

           Mr.Dick,whohadbeenrattlinghismoneyallthistime,wasrattlingitsoloudlynow,thatmyauntfeltitnecessarytocheckhimwithalook,beforesaying:

           ‘Thepoorchild’sannuitydiedwithher?’

           ‘Diedwithher,’repliedMr.Murdstone.

           ‘Andtherewasnosettlementofthelittlepropertythehouseandgardenthewhat’s-its-nameRookerywithoutanyrooksinituponherboy?’

           ‘Ithadbeenlefttoher,unconditionally,byherfirsthusband,’Mr.Murdstonebegan,whenmyauntcaughthimupwiththegreatestirascibilityandimpatience.

           ‘GoodLord,man,there’snooccasiontosaythat.Lefttoherunconditionally!IthinkIseeDavidCopperfieldlookingforwardtoanyconditionofanysortorkind,thoughitstaredhimpoint-blankintheface!Ofcourseitwaslefttoherunconditionally.Butwhenshemarriedagainwhenshetookthatmostdisastrousstepofmarryingyou,inshort,’saidmyaunt,‘tobeplaindidnooneputinawordfortheboyatthattime?’

           ‘Mylatewifelovedhersecondhusband,ma’am,’saidMr.Murdstone,‘andtrustedimplicitlyinhim.’

           ‘Yourlatewife,sir,wasamostunworldly,mostunhappy,mostunfortunatebaby,’returnedmyaunt,shakingherheadathim.‘That’swhatshewas.Andnow,whathaveyougottosaynext?’

           ‘Merelythis,MissTrotwood,’hereturned.

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