Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Micawber’s Gauntlet

           

           Ireturnedtomyfireside,andwasmusing,halfgravelyandhalflaughing,onthecharacterofMr.Micawberandtheoldrelationsbetweenus,whenIheardaquickstepascendingthestairs.Atfirst,IthoughtitwasTraddlescomingbackforsomethingMrs.Micawberhadleftbehind;butasthestepapproached,Iknewit,andfeltmyheartbeathigh,andthebloodrushtomyface,foritwasSteerforth’s.

           IwasneverunmindfulofAgnes,andsheneverleftthatsanctuaryinmythoughtsifImaycallitsowhereIhadplacedherfromthefirst.Butwhenheentered,andstoodbeforemewithhishandout,thedarknessthathadfallenonhimchangedtolight,andIfeltconfoundedandashamedofhavingdoubtedoneIlovedsoheartily.Ilovedhernonetheless;Ithoughtofherasthesamebenignant,gentleangelinmylife;Ireproachedmyself,nother,withhavingdonehimaninjury;andIwouldhavemadehimanyatonementifIhadknownwhattomake,andhowtomakeit.

           ‘Why,Daisy,oldboy,dumb-foundered!’laughedSteerforth,shakingmyhandheartily,andthrowingitgailyaway.‘HaveIdetectedyouinanotherfeast,youSybarite!TheseDoctors’Commonsfellowsarethegayestmenintown,Ibelieve,andbeatussoberOxfordpeoplealltonothing!’Hisbrightglancewentmerrilyroundtheroom,ashetooktheseatonthesofaoppositetome,whichMrs.Micawberhadrecentlyvacated,andstirredthefireintoablaze.

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