Дэвид Копперфильд

A Loss

           

           ‘TheveryquestionIshouldhaveputtoyou,sir,’returnedMr.Omer,‘butonaccountofdelicacy.It’soneofthedrawbacksofourlineofbusiness.Whenaparty’sill,wecan’taskhowthepartyis.’

           Thedifficultyhadnotoccurredtome;thoughIhadhadmyapprehensionstoo,whenIwentin,ofhearingtheoldtune.Onitsbeingmentioned,Irecognizedit,however,andsaidasmuch.

           ‘Yes,yes,youunderstand,’saidMr.Omer,noddinghishead.‘Wedursn’tdoit.Blessyou,itwouldbeashockthatthegeneralityofpartiesmightn’trecover,tosay“OmerandJoram’scompliments,andhowdoyoufindyourselfthismorning?”orthisafternoonasitmaybe.’

           Mr.OmerandInoddedateachother,andMr.Omerrecruitedhiswindbytheaidofhispipe.

           ‘It’soneofthethingsthatcutthetradeofffromattentionstheycouldoftenwishtoshow,’saidMr.Omer.‘Takemyself.IfIhaveknownBarkisayear,tomovetoashewentby,Ihaveknownhimfortyyears.ButIcan’tgoandsay,“howishe?”’

           IfeltitwasratherhardonMr.Omer,andItoldhimso.

           ‘I’mnotmoreself-interested,Ihope,thananotherman,’saidMr.Omer.‘Lookatme!Mywindmayfailmeatanymoment,anditain’tlikelythat,tomyownknowledge,I’dbeself-interestedundersuchcircumstances.

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