Дэвид Копперфильд

A Loss

           Isayitain’tlikely,inamanwhoknowshiswindwillgo,whenitDOESgo,asifapairofbellowswascutopen;andthatmanagrandfather,’saidMr.Omer.

           Isaid,‘Notatall.’

           ‘Itain’tthatIcomplainofmylineofbusiness,’saidMr.Omer.‘Itain’tthat.Somegoodandsomebadgoes,nodoubt,toallcallings.WhatIwishis,thatpartieswasbroughtupstronger-minded.’

           Mr.Omer,withaverycomplacentandamiableface,tookseveralpuffsinsilence;andthensaid,resuminghisfirstpoint:

           ‘Accordinglywe’reobleeged,inascertaininghowBarkisgoeson,tolimitourselvestoEm’ly.Sheknowswhatourrealobjectsare,andshedon’thaveanymorealarmsorsuspicionsaboutus,thanifwewassomanylambs.MinnieandJoramhavejuststeppeddowntothehouse,infact(she’sthere,afterhours,helpingherauntabit),toaskherhowheistonight;andifyouwastopleasetowaittilltheycomeback,they’dgiveyoufullpartic’lers.Willyoutakesomething?Aglassofsrubandwater,now?Ismokeonsrubandwater,myself,’saidMr.Omer,takinguphisglass,‘becauseit’sconsideredsofteningtothepassages,bywhichthistroublesomebreathofminegetsintoaction.But,Lordblessyou,’saidMr.Omer,huskily,‘itain’tthepassagesthat’soutoforder!“Givemebreathenough,”saidItomydaughterMinnie,“andI’llfindpassages,mydear.

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