Дэвид Копперфильд

I Make Another Beginning

           

           ‘Amixedfiddlestick,’returnedmyaunt.‘Youclaimtohaveoneplainmotiveinallyoudoyourself.Youdon’tsuppose,Ihope,thatyouaretheonlyplaindealerintheworld?’

           ‘Ay,butIhaveonlyonemotiveinlife,MissTrotwood,’herejoined,smiling.‘Otherpeoplehavedozens,scores,hundreds.Ihaveonlyone.There’sthedifference.However,that’sbesidethequestion.Thebestschool?Whateverthemotive,youwantthebest?’

           Myauntnoddedassent.

           ‘Atthebestwehave,’saidMr.Wickfield,considering,‘yournephewcouldn’tboardjustnow.’

           ‘Buthecouldboardsomewhereelse,Isuppose?’suggestedmyaunt.

           Mr.WickfieldthoughtIcould.Afteralittlediscussion,heproposedtotakemyaunttotheschool,thatshemightseeitandjudgeforherself;also,totakeher,withthesameobject,totwoorthreehouseswherehethoughtIcouldbeboarded.Myauntembracingtheproposal,wewereallthreegoingouttogether,whenhestoppedandsaid:

           ‘Ourlittlefriendheremighthavesomemotive,perhaps,forobjectingtothearrangements.Ithinkwehadbetterleavehimbehind?’

           Myauntseemeddisposedtocontestthepoint;buttofacilitatemattersIsaidIwouldgladlyremainbehind,iftheypleased;andreturnedintoMr.Wickfield’soffice,whereIsatdownagain,inthechairIhadfirstoccupied,toawaittheirreturn.

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