Дэвид Копперфильд

I Look About Me, and Make a Discovery

           Supposeyouweretogodownintotheoldpartofthecountryagain,forinstance,andseethatthatout-of-the-waywomanwiththesavagestofnames,’saidmyaunt,rubbinghernose,forshecouldneverthoroughlyforgivePeggottyforbeingsocalled.

           ‘Ofallthingsintheworld,aunt,Ishouldlikeitbest!’

           ‘Well,’saidmyaunt,‘that’slucky,forIshouldlikeittoo.Butit’snaturalandrationalthatyoushouldlikeit.AndIamverywellpersuadedthatwhateveryoudo,Trot,willalwaysbenaturalandrational.’

           ‘Ihopeso,aunt.’

           ‘Yoursister,BetseyTrotwood,’saidmyaunt,‘wouldhavebeenasnaturalandrationalagirlaseverbreathed.You’llbeworthyofher,won’tyou?’

           ‘IhopeIshallbeworthyofYOU,aunt.Thatwillbeenoughforme.’

           ‘It’samercythatpoordearbabyofamotherofyoursdidn’tlive,’saidmyaunt,lookingatmeapprovingly,‘orshe’dhavebeensovainofherboybythistime,thathersoftlittleheadwouldhavebeencompletelyturned,iftherewasanythingofitlefttoturn.’(Myauntalwaysexcusedanyweaknessofherowninmybehalf,bytransferringitinthiswaytomypoormother.)‘Blessme,Trotwood,howyoudoremindmeofher!’

           ‘Pleasantly,Ihope,aunt?’saidI.

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