Дэвид Копперфильд

I have a Change

           Thefishweresmallandbony,andthepotatoeswerealittleburnt.Weallacknowledgedthatwefeltthissomethingofadisappointment;butMrs.Gummidgesaidshefeltitmorethanwedid,andshedtearsagain,andmadethatformerdeclarationwithgreatbitterness.

           Accordingly,whenMr.Peggottycamehomeaboutnineo’clock,thisunfortunateMrs.Gummidgewasknittinginhercorner,inaverywretchedandmiserablecondition.Peggottyhadbeenworkingcheerfully.Hamhadbeenpatchingupagreatpairofwaterboots;andI,withlittleEm’lybymyside,hadbeenreadingtothem.Mrs.Gummidgehadnevermadeanyotherremarkthanaforlornsigh,andhadneverraisedhereyessincetea.

           ‘Well,Mates,’saidMr.Peggotty,takinghisseat,‘andhowareyou?’

           Weallsaidsomething,orlookedsomething,towelcomehim,exceptMrs.Gummidge,whoonlyshookherheadoverherknitting.

           ‘What’samiss?’saidMr.Peggotty,withaclapofhishands.‘Cheerup,oldMawther!’(Mr.Peggottymeantoldgirl.)

           Mrs.Gummidgedidnotappeartobeabletocheerup.Shetookoutanoldblacksilkhandkerchiefandwipedhereyes;butinsteadofputtingitinherpocket,keptitout,andwipedthemagain,andstillkeptitout,readyforuse.

           ‘What’samiss,dame?’saidMr.Peggotty.

           ‘Nothing,’returnedMrs.Gummidge.

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