Дэвид Копперфильд

Good and Bad Angels

           MissAgnes’saboveall!Youdon’trememberyourowneloquentexpressions,MasterCopperfield;butIrememberhowyousaidonedaythateverybodymustadmireher,andhowIthankedyouforit!Youhaveforgotthat,Ihavenodoubt,MasterCopperfield?’

           ‘No,’saidI,drily.

           ‘OhhowgladIamyouhavenot!’exclaimedUriah.‘Tothinkthatyoushouldbethefirsttokindlethesparksofambitioninmyumblebreast,andthatyou’venotforgotit!Oh!Wouldyouexcusemeaskingforacupmorecoffee?’

           Somethingintheemphasishelaiduponthekindlingofthosesparks,andsomethingintheglancehedirectedatmeashesaidit,hadmademestartasifIhadseenhimilluminatedbyablazeoflight.Recalledbyhisrequest,preferredinquiteanothertoneofvoice,Ididthehonoursoftheshaving-pot;butIdidthemwithanunsteadinessofhand,asuddensenseofbeingnomatchforhim,andaperplexedsuspiciousanxietyastowhathemightbegoingtosaynext,whichIfeltcouldnotescapehisobservation.

           Hesaidnothingatall.Hestirredhiscoffeeroundandround,hesippedit,hefelthischinsoftlywithhisgrislyhand,helookedatthefire,helookedabouttheroom,hegaspedratherthansmiledatme,hewrithedandundulatedabout,inhisdeferentialservility,hestirredandsippedagain,buthelefttherenewaloftheconversationtome.

           ‘So,Mr.

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