Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Micawber’s Gauntlet

           Bah!Nonsense!Youmeantogotomorrow,Isuppose?’hesaid,holdingmeoutatarm’slength,withahandoneachofmyshoulders.

           ‘Yes,Ithinkso.’

           ‘Well,then,don’tgotillnextday.Iwantedyoutocomeandstayafewdayswithus.HereIam,onpurposetobidyou,andyouflyofftoYarmouth!’

           ‘Youareanicefellowtotalkofflyingoff,Steerforth,whoarealwaysrunningwildonsomeunknownexpeditionorother!’

           Helookedatmeforamomentwithoutspeaking,andthenrejoined,stillholdingmeasbefore,andgivingmeashake:

           ‘Come!Saythenextday,andpassasmuchoftomorrowasyoucanwithus!Whoknowswhenwemaymeetagain,else?Come!Saythenextday!IwantyoutostandbetweenRosaDartleandme,andkeepusasunder.’

           ‘Wouldyouloveeachothertoomuch,withoutme?’

           ‘Yes;orhate,’laughedSteerforth;‘nomatterwhich.Come!Saythenextday!’

           Isaidthenextday;andheputonhisgreat-coatandlightedhiscigar,andsetofftowalkhome.Findinghiminthisintention,Iputonmyowngreat-coat(butdidnotlightmyowncigar,havinghadenoughofthatforonewhile)andwalkedwithhimasfarastheopenroad:adullroad,then,atnight.

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