Дэвид Копперфильд

Some Old Scenes, and Some New People

           

           ‘Didn’tIknow?’criedI,‘didn’tIsaythattherewasnotajoy,orsorrow,oranyemotionofsuchhonestheartsthatwasindifferenttoyou?’

           ‘Aye,aye,’heanswered,‘youtoldmeallthat.Thereletitrest.Wehavesaidenough!’

           Afraidofoffendinghimbypursuingthesubjectwhenhemadesolightofit,Ionlypursueditinmythoughtsaswewentonatevenaquickerpacethanbefore.

           ‘Shemustbenewlyrigged,’saidSteerforth,‘andIshallleaveLittimerbehindtoseeitdone,thatImayknowsheisquitecomplete.DidItellyouLittimerhadcomedown?’

           No.’

           ‘Ohyes!camedownthismorning,withaletterfrommymother.’

           Asourlooksmet,Iobservedthathewaspaleeventohislips,thoughhelookedverysteadilyatme.IfearedthatsomedifferencebetweenhimandhismothermighthaveledtohisbeingintheframeofmindinwhichIhadfoundhimatthesolitaryfireside.Ihintedso.

           ‘Ohno!’hesaid,shakinghishead,andgivingaslightlaugh.‘Nothingofthesort!Yes.Heiscomedown,thatmanofmine.’

           ‘Thesameasever?’saidI.

           ‘Thesameasever,’saidSteerforth.‘DistantandquietastheNorthPole.Heshallseetotheboatbeingfreshnamed.She’sthe“StormyPetrel”now.WhatdoesMr.PeggottycareforStormyPetrels!I’llhaveherchristenedagain.

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