Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Micawber’s Gauntlet

           Micawberheated,andcontinuallystirred,somemushroomketchupinalittlesaucepan.Whenwehadslicesenoughdonetobeginupon,wefell-to,withoursleevesstilltuckedupatthewrist,moreslicessputteringandblazingonthefire,andourattentiondividedbetweenthemuttononourplates,andthemuttonthenpreparing.

           Whatwiththenoveltyofthiscookery,theexcellenceofit,thebustleofit,thefrequentstartinguptolookafterit,thefrequentsittingdowntodisposeofitasthecrispslicescameoffthegridironhotandhot,thebeingsobusy,soflushedwiththefire,soamused,andinthemidstofsuchatemptingnoiseandsavour,wereducedthelegofmuttontothebone.Myownappetitecamebackmiraculously.Iamashamedtorecordit,butIreallybelieveIforgotDoraforalittlewhile.IamsatisfiedthatMr.andMrs.Micawbercouldnothaveenjoyedthefeastmore,iftheyhadsoldabedtoprovideit.Traddleslaughedasheartily,almostthewholetime,asheateandworked.Indeedwealldid,allatonce;andIdaresaytherewasneveragreatersuccess.

           Wewereattheheightofourenjoyment,andwereallbusilyengaged,inourseveraldepartments,endeavouringtobringthelastbatchofslicestoastateofperfectionthatshouldcrownthefeast,whenIwasawareofastrangepresenceintheroom,andmyeyesencounteredthoseofthestaidLittimer,standinghatinhandbeforeme.

           ‘What’sthematter?’Iinvoluntarilyasked.

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