Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Micawber’s Gauntlet

           Steerforth,dismissingthesubjectwithalightnod,andasmile,andtheremarkthathewouldbegladtoseetheoldfellowtoo,forhehadalwaysbeenanoddfish,inquiredifIcouldgivehimanythingtoeat?Duringmostofthisshortdialogue,whenhehadnotbeenspeakinginawildvivaciousmanner,hehadsatidlybeatingonthelumpofcoalwiththepoker.IobservedthathedidthesamethingwhileIwasgettingouttheremainsofthepigeon-pie,andsoforth.

           ‘Why,Daisy,here’sasupperforaking!’heexclaimed,startingoutofhissilencewithaburst,andtakinghisseatatthetable.‘Ishalldoitjustice,forIhavecomefromYarmouth.’

           ‘IthoughtyoucamefromOxford?’Ireturned.

           ‘NotI,’saidSteerforth.‘Ihavebeenseafaringbetteremployed.’

           ‘Littimerwasheretoday,toinquireforyou,’Iremarked,‘andIunderstoodhimthatyouwereatOxford;though,nowIthinkofit,hecertainlydidnotsayso.’

           ‘LittimerisagreaterfoolthanIthoughthim,tohavebeeninquiringformeatall,’saidSteerforth,joviallypouringoutaglassofwine,anddrinkingtome.‘Astounderstandinghim,youareaclevererfellowthanmostofus,Daisy,ifyoucandothat.’

           ‘That’strue,indeed,’saidI,movingmychairtothetable.‘SoyouhavebeenatYarmouth,Steerforth!’interestedtoknowallaboutit.‘Haveyoubeentherelong?’

           ‘No,’hereturned.

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