Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am a New Boy in More Senses than One

           InoticedthatMr.Wickfieldlookedathersteadily.

           ‘WhenIhappenedtosaytothatnaughtything,theotherday,’pursuedhermother,shakingherheadandherfanather,playfully,‘thattherewasafamilycircumstanceshemightmentiontoyou—indeed,Ithink,wasboundtomentionshesaid,thattomentionitwastoaskafavour;andthat,asyouweretoogenerous,andasforhertoaskwasalwaystohave,shewouldn’t.’

           ‘Annie,mydear,’saidtheDoctor.‘Thatwaswrong.Itrobbedmeofapleasure.’

           ‘AlmosttheverywordsIsaidtoher!’exclaimedhermother.‘Nowreally,anothertime,whenIknowwhatshewouldtellyoubutforthisreason,andwon’t,Ihaveagreatmind,mydearDoctor,totellyoumyself.’

           ‘Ishallbegladifyouwill,’returnedtheDoctor.

           ‘ShallI?’

           ‘Certainly.’

           ‘Well,then,Iwill!’saidtheOldSoldier.‘That’sabargain.’Andhaving,Isuppose,carriedherpoint,shetappedtheDoctor’shandseveraltimeswithherfan(whichshekissedfirst),andreturnedtriumphantlytoherformerstation.

           Somemorecompanycomingin,amongwhomwerethetwomastersandAdams,thetalkbecamegeneral;anditnaturallyturnedonMr.JackMaldon,andhisvoyage,andthecountryhewasgoingto,andhisvariousplansandprospects.

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