Дэвид Копперфильд

Good and Bad Angels

           Youhaveheardsomething,Ides-say,ofachangeinmyexpectations,MasterCopperfield,Ishouldsay,MisterCopperfield?’

           Ashesatonmysofa,withhislongkneesdrawnupunderhiscoffee-cup,hishatandglovesuponthegroundclosetohim,hisspoongoingsoftlyroundandround,hisshadowlessredeyes,whichlookedasiftheyhadscorchedtheirlashesoff,turnedtowardsmewithoutlookingatme,thedisagreeabledintsIhaveformerlydescribedinhisnostrilscomingandgoingwithhisbreath,andasnakyundulationpervadinghisframefromhischintohisboots,IdecidedinmyownmindthatIdislikedhimintensely.Itmademeveryuncomfortabletohavehimforaguest,forIwasyoungthen,andunusedtodisguisewhatIsostronglyfelt.

           ‘Youhaveheardsomething,Ides-say,ofachangeinmyexpectations,MasterCopperfield,Ishouldsay,MisterCopperfield?’observedUriah.

           ‘Yes,’saidI,‘something.’

           ‘Ah!IthoughtMissAgneswouldknowofit!’hequietlyreturned.‘I’mgladtofindMissAgnesknowsofit.Oh,thankyou,MasterMisterCopperfield!’

           Icouldhavethrownmybootjackathim(itlayreadyontherug),forhavingentrappedmeintothedisclosureofanythingconcerningAgnes,howeverimmaterial.ButIonlydrankmycoffee.

           ‘Whataprophetyouhaveshownyourself,MisterCopperfield!’pursuedUriah.

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