Дэвид Копперфильд

I Corroborate Mr. Dick, and Choose a Profession

           ‘IfthereisanyDonkeyinDover,whoseaudacityitishardertometobearthananother’s,that,’saidmyaunt,strikingthetable,‘istheanimal!’

           Janetventuredtosuggestthatmyauntmightbedisturbingherselfunnecessarily,andthatshebelievedthedonkeyinquestionwasthenengagedinthesand-and-gravellineofbusiness,andwasnotavailableforpurposesoftrespass.Butmyauntwouldn’thearofit.

           Supperwascomfortablyservedandhot,thoughmyaunt’sroomswereveryhighupwhetherthatshemighthavemorestonestairsforhermoney,ormightbenearertothedoorintheroof,Idon’tknow-andconsistedofaroastfowl,asteak,andsomevegetables,toallofwhichIdidamplejustice,andwhichwereallexcellent.ButmyaunthadherownideasconcerningLondonprovision,andatebutlittle.

           ‘Isupposethisunfortunatefowlwasbornandbroughtupinacellar,’saidmyaunt,‘andnevertooktheairexceptonahackneycoach-stand.Ihopethesteakmaybebeef,butIdon’tbelieveit.Nothing’sgenuineintheplace,inmyopinion,butthedirt.’

           ‘Don’tyouthinkthefowlmayhavecomeoutofthecountry,aunt?’Ihinted.

           ‘Certainlynot,’returnedmyaunt.‘ItwouldbenopleasuretoaLondontradesmantosellanythingwhichwaswhathepretendeditwas.’

           Ididnotventuretocontrovertthisopinion,butImadeagoodsupper,whichitgreatlysatisfiedhertoseemedo.

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