Дэвид Копперфильд

Good and Bad Angels

           Traddleswithunusualinterest.Hewasasober,steady-lookingyoungmanofretiringmanners,withacomicheadofhair,andeyesthatwereratherwideopen;andhegotintoanobscurecornersosoon,thatIhadsomedifficultyinmakinghimout.AtlengthIhadagoodviewofhim,andeithermyvisiondeceivedme,oritwastheoldunfortunateTommy.

           ImademywaytoMr.Waterbrook,andsaid,thatIbelievedIhadthepleasureofseeinganoldschoolfellowthere.

           ‘Indeed!’saidMr.Waterbrook,surprised.‘YouaretooyoungtohavebeenatschoolwithMr.HenrySpiker?’

           ‘Oh,Idon’tmeanhim!’Ireturned.‘ImeanthegentlemannamedTraddles.’

           ‘Oh!Aye,aye!Indeed!’saidmyhost,withmuchdiminishedinterest.‘Possibly.’

           ‘Ifit’sreallythesameperson,’saidI,glancingtowardshim,‘itwasataplacecalledSalemHousewhereweweretogether,andhewasanexcellentfellow.’

           ‘Ohyes.Traddlesisagoodfellow,’returnedmyhostnoddinghisheadwithanairoftoleration.‘Traddlesisquiteagoodfellow.’

           ‘It’sacuriouscoincidence,’saidI.

           ‘Itisreally,’returnedmyhost,‘quiteacoincidence,thatTraddlesshouldbehereatall:asTraddleswasonlyinvitedthismorning,whentheplaceattable,intendedtobeoccupiedbyMrs.HenrySpiker’sbrother,becamevacant,inconsequenceofhisindisposition.Averygentlemanlyman,Mrs.

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