Дэвид Копперфильд

Somebody Turns up

           Thensheturnedroundandfainted,andIstoodstillandlookedathim,andhewalkedaway;butthatheshouldhavebeenhidingeversince(inthegroundorsomewhere),isthemostextraordinarything!’

           ‘HAShebeenhidingeversince?’Iasked.

           ‘Tobesurehehas,’retortedMr.Dick,noddinghisheadgravely.‘Nevercameout,tilllastnight!Wewerewalkinglastnight,andhecameupbehindheragain,andIknewhimagain.’

           ‘Anddidhefrightenmyauntagain?’

           ‘Allofashiver,’saidMr.Dick,counterfeitingthataffectionandmakinghisteethchatter.‘Heldbythepalings.Cried.But,Trotwood,comehere,’gettingmeclosetohim,thathemightwhisperverysoftly;‘whydidshegivehimmoney,boy,inthemoonlight?’

           ‘Hewasabeggar,perhaps.’

           Mr.Dickshookhishead,asutterlyrenouncingthesuggestion;andhavingrepliedagreatmanytimes,andwithgreatconfidence,‘Nobeggar,nobeggar,nobeggar,sir!’wentontosay,thatfromhiswindowhehadafterwards,andlateatnight,seenmyauntgivethispersonmoneyoutsidethegardenrailsinthemoonlight,whothenslunkawayintothegroundagain,ashethoughtprobableandwasseennomore:whilemyauntcamehurriedlyandsecretlybackintothehouse,andhad,eventhatmorning,beenquitedifferentfromherusualself;whichpreyedonMr.Dick’smind.

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