Дэвид Копперфильд

Some Old Scenes, and Some New People

           Herchin,whichwaswhatiscalledadoublechin,wassofatthatitentirelyswallowedupthestringsofherbonnet,bowandall.Throatshehadnone;waistshehadnone;legsshehadnone,worthmentioning;forthoughshewasmorethanfull-sizeddowntowhereherwaistwouldhavebeen,ifshehadhadany,andthoughsheterminated,ashumanbeingsgenerallydo,inapairoffeet,shewassoshortthatshestoodatacommon-sizedchairasatatable,restingabagshecarriedontheseat.Thisladydressedinanoff-hand,easystyle;bringinghernoseandherforefingertogether,withthedifficultyIhavedescribed;standingwithherheadnecessarilyononeside,and,withoneofhersharpeyesshutup,makinganuncommonlyknowingfaceafteroglingSteerforthforafewmoments,brokeintoatorrentofwords.

           ‘What!Myflower!’shepleasantlybegan,shakingherlargeheadathim.‘You’rethere,areyou!Oh,younaughtyboy,fieforshame,whatdoyoudosofarawayfromhome?Uptomischief,I’llbebound.Oh,you’readownyfellow,Steerforth,soyouare,andI’manother,ain’tI?Ha,ha,ha!You’dhavebettedahundredpoundtofive,now,thatyouwouldn’thaveseenmehere,wouldn’tyou?Blessyou,manalive,I’meverywhere.I’mhereandthere,andwherenot,liketheconjurer’shalf-crowninthelady’shandkercher.

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