Дэвид Копперфильд

Some Old Scenes, and Some New People

           Nowforourdinner!’

           Buthelookedagainoverhisshouldertowardsthesea-lineglimmeringafaroff,andyetagain.Andhewonderedaboutit,insomebrokenexpressions,severaltimes,intheshortremainderofourwalk;andonlyseemedtoforgetitwhenthelightoffireandcandleshoneuponus,seatedwarmandmerry,attable.

           Littimerwasthere,andhadhisusualeffectuponme.WhenIsaidtohimthatIhopedMrs.SteerforthandMissDartlewerewell,heansweredrespectfully(andofcourserespectably),thattheyweretolerablywell,hethankedme,andhadsenttheircompliments.Thiswasall,andyetheseemedtometosayasplainlyasamancouldsay:‘Youareveryyoung,sir;youareexceedinglyyoung.’

           Wehadalmostfinisheddinner,whentakingasteportwotowardsthetable,fromthecornerwherehekeptwatchuponus,orratheruponme,asIfelt,hesaidtohismaster:

           ‘Ibegyourpardon,sir.MissMowcherisdownhere.’

           ‘Who?’criedSteerforth,muchastonished.

           ‘MissMowcher,sir.’

           ‘Why,whatonearthdoesshedohere?’saidSteerforth.

           ‘Itappearstobehernativepartofthecountry,sir.Sheinformsmethatshemakesoneofherprofessionalvisitshere,everyyear,sir.Imetherinthestreetthisafternoon,andshewishedtoknowifshemighthavethehonourofwaitingonyouafterdinner,sir.

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