Дэвид Копперфильд

Some Old Scenes, and Some New People

           

           ‘Haveitcarriedhalfaquarterofaninchtowardsthetemple,’saidMissMowcher.‘Wecandoitinafortnight.’

           ‘No,Ithankyou.Notatpresent.’

           ‘Goinforatip,’sheurged.‘No?Let’sgetthescaffoldingup,then,forapairofwhiskers.Come!’

           IcouldnothelpblushingasIdeclined,forIfeltwewereonmyweakpoint,now.ButMissMowcher,findingthatIwasnotatpresentdisposedforanydecorationwithintherangeofherart,andthatIwas,forthetimebeing,proofagainsttheblandishmentsofthesmallbottlewhichsheheldupbeforeoneeyetoenforceherpersuasions,saidwewouldmakeabeginningonanearlyday,andrequestedtheaidofmyhandtodescendfromherelevatedstation.Thusassisted,sheskippeddownwithmuchagility,andbegantotieherdoublechinintoherbonnet.

           ‘Thefee,’saidSteerforth,‘is

           ‘Fivebob,’repliedMissMowcher,‘anddirtcheap,mychicken.Ain’tIvolatile,Mr.Copperfield?’

           Irepliedpolitely:‘Notatall.’ButIthoughtshewasratherso,whenshetosseduphistwohalf-crownslikeagoblinpieman,caughtthem,droppedtheminherpocket,andgaveitaloudslap.

           ‘That’stheTill!’observedMissMowcher,standingatthechairagain,andreplacinginthebagamiscellaneouscollectionoflittleobjectsshehademptiedoutofit.‘HaveIgotallmytraps?Itseemsso.

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