Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Micawber’s Gauntlet

           

           ‘Indeed,sir!’andhedividedabowbetweenmeandTraddles,withaglanceatthelatter.

           Hewasmovingsoftlytothedoor,when,inaforlornhopeofsayingsomethingnaturallywhichInevercould,tothismanIsaid:

           ‘Oh!Littimer!’

           ‘Sir!’

           ‘DidyouremainlongatYarmouth,thattime?’

           ‘Notparticularlyso,sir.’

           ‘Yousawtheboatcompleted?’

           ‘Yes,sir.Iremainedbehindonpurposetoseetheboatcompleted.’

           ‘Iknow!’Heraisedhiseyestominerespectfully.

           ‘Mr.Steerforthhasnotseenityet,Isuppose?’

           ‘Ireallycan’tsay,sir.IthinkbutIreallycan’tsay,sir.Iwishyougoodnight,sir.’

           Hecomprehendedeverybodypresent,intherespectfulbowwithwhichhefollowedthesewords,anddisappeared.Myvisitorsseemedtobreathemorefreelywhenhewasgone;butmyownreliefwasverygreat,forbesidestheconstraint,arisingfromthatextraordinarysenseofbeingatadisadvantagewhichIalwayshadinthisman’spresence,myconsciencehadembarrassedmewithwhispersthatIhadmistrustedhismaster,andIcouldnotrepressavagueuneasydreadthathemightfinditout.Howwasit,havingsolittleinrealitytoconceal,thatIalwaysDIDfeelasifthismanwerefindingmeout?

           Mr.

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