Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Change

           Gummidge’slookingupattheDutchclock,betweeneightandnine,andsayinghewasthere,andthat,whatwasmore,shehadknowninthemorninghewouldgothere.

           Mrs.Gummidgehadbeeninalowstateallday,andhadburstintotearsintheforenoon,whenthefiresmoked.‘Iamalonelorncreetur’,’wereMrs.Gummidge’swords,whenthatunpleasantoccurrencetookplace,‘andeverythinkgoescontrarywithme.’

           ‘Oh,it’llsoonleaveoff,’saidPeggottyIagainmeanourPeggotty‘andbesides,youknow,it’snotmoredisagreeabletoyouthantous.’

           ‘Ifeelitmore,’saidMrs.Gummidge.

           Itwasaverycoldday,withcuttingblastsofwind.Mrs.Gummidge’speculiarcornerofthefiresideseemedtometobethewarmestandsnuggestintheplace,asherchairwascertainlytheeasiest,butitdidn’tsuitherthatdayatall.Shewasconstantlycomplainingofthecold,andofitsoccasioningavisitationinherbackwhichshecalled‘thecreeps’.Atlastsheshedtearsonthatsubject,andsaidagainthatshewas‘alonelorncreetur’andeverythinkwentcontrarywithher’.

           ‘Itiscertainlyverycold,’saidPeggotty.‘Everybodymustfeelitso.’

           ‘Ifeelitmorethanotherpeople,’saidMrs.Gummidge.

           Soatdinner;whenMrs.Gummidgewasalwayshelpedimmediatelyafterme,towhomthepreferencewasgivenasavisitorofdistinction.

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