Дэвид Копперфильд

Somebody Turns up

           Therearepeopleenoughtotreaduponmeinmylowlystate,withoutmydoingoutragetotheirfeelingsbypossessinglearning.Learningain’tforme.Apersonlikemyselfhadbetternotaspire.Ifheistogetoninlife,hemustgetonumbly,MasterCopperfield!’

           Ineversawhismouthsowide,orthecreasesinhischeekssodeep,aswhenhedeliveredhimselfofthesesentiments:shakinghisheadallthetime,andwrithingmodestly.

           ‘Ithinkyouarewrong,Uriah,’Isaid.‘IdaresaythereareseveralthingsthatIcouldteachyou,ifyouwouldliketolearnthem.’

           ‘Oh,Idon’tdoubtthat,MasterCopperfield,’heanswered;‘notintheleast.Butnotbeingumbleyourself,youdon’tjudgewell,perhaps,forthemthatare.Iwon’tprovokemybetterswithknowledge,thankyou.I’mmuchtooumble.Hereismyumbledwelling,MasterCopperfield!’

           Weenteredalow,old-fashionedroom,walkedstraightintofromthestreet,andfoundthereMrs.Heep,whowasthedeadimageofUriah,onlyshort.Shereceivedmewiththeutmosthumility,andapologizedtomeforgivinghersonakiss,observingthat,lowlyastheywere,theyhadtheirnaturalaffections,whichtheyhopedwouldgivenooffencetoanyone.Itwasaperfectlydecentroom,halfparlourandhalfkitchen,butnotatallasnugroom.Thetea-thingsweresetuponthetable,andthekettlewasboilingonthehob.

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