Дэвид Копперфильд

Little Em’ly

           

           ‘Don’tyourememberyourcomingtothecoachtomeetme,andmyhavingbreakfasthere,andourridingouttoBlunderstonetogether:you,andI,andMrs.Joram,andMr.Joramtoowhowasn’therhusbandthen?’

           ‘Why,Lordblessmysoul!’exclaimedMr.Omer,afterbeingthrownbyhissurpriseintoafitofcoughing,‘youdon’tsayso!Minnie,mydear,yourecollect?Dearme,yes;thepartywasalady,Ithink?’

           ‘Mymother,’Irejoined.

           ‘Tobesure,’saidMr.Omer,touchingmywaistcoatwithhisforefinger,‘andtherewasalittlechildtoo!Therewastwoparties.Thelittlepartywaslaidalongwiththeotherparty.OveratBlunderstoneitwas,ofcourse.Dearme!Andhowhaveyoubeensince?’

           Verywell,Ithankedhim,asIhopedhehadbeentoo.

           ‘Oh!nothingtogrumbleat,youknow,’saidMr.Omer.‘Ifindmybreathgetsshort,butitseldomgetslongerasamangetsolder.Itakeitasitcomes,andmakethemostofit.That’sthebestway,ain’tit?’

           Mr.Omercoughedagain,inconsequenceoflaughing,andwasassistedoutofhisfitbyhisdaughter,whonowstoodclosebesideus,dancinghersmallestchildonthecounter.

           ‘Dearme!’saidMr.Omer.‘Yes,tobesure.Twoparties!Why,inthatveryride,ifyou’llbelieveme,thedaywasnamedformyMinnietomarryJoram.“Donameit,sir,”saysJoram.“Yes,do,father,”saysMinnie.

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