Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am a New Boy in More Senses than One

           Hewastoleavethatnight,aftersupper,inapost-chaise,forGravesend;wheretheship,inwhichhewastomakethevoyage,lay;andwastobegoneunlesshecamehomeonleave,orforhishealthIdon’tknowhowmanyyears.IrecollectitwassettledbygeneralconsentthatIndiawasquiteamisrepresentedcountry,andhadnothingobjectionableinit,butatigerortwo,andalittleheatinthewarmpartoftheday.Formyownpart,IlookedonMr.JackMaldonasamodernSindbad,andpicturedhimthebosomfriendofalltheRajahsintheEast,sittingundercanopies,smokingcurlygoldenpipesamilelong,iftheycouldbestraightenedout.

           Mrs.Strongwasaveryprettysinger:asIknew,whooftenheardhersingingbyherself.But,whethershewasafraidofsingingbeforepeople,orwasoutofvoicethatevening,itwascertainthatshecouldn’tsingatall.Shetriedaduet,once,withhercousinMaldon,butcouldnotsomuchasbegin;andafterwards,whenshetriedtosingbyherself,althoughshebegansweetly,hervoicediedawayonasudden,andleftherquitedistressed,withherheadhangingdownoverthekeys.ThegoodDoctorsaidshewasnervous,and,torelieveher,proposedaroundgameatcards;ofwhichheknewasmuchasoftheartofplayingthetrombone.ButIremarkedthattheOldSoldiertookhimintocustodydirectly,forherpartner;andinstructedhim,asthefirstpreliminaryofinitiation,togiveherallthesilverhehadinhispocket.

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