Дэвид Копперфильд

A Greater Loss

           Shehadfallenback,already,onthesocietyofthework-boxwithSt.Paul’suponthelid,theyard-measureinthecottage,andthebitofwax-candle;andtheretheyallwere,justasiftheyhadneverbeendisturbed.Mrs.Gummidgeappearedtobefrettingalittle,inheroldcorner;andconsequentlylookedquitenatural,too.

           ‘You’refirstofthelot,Mas’rDavy!’saidMr.Peggottywithahappyface.‘Doen’tkeepinthatcoat,sir,ifit’swet.’

           ‘Thankyou,Mr.Peggotty,’saidI,givinghimmyoutercoattohangup.‘It’squitedry.’

           ‘So’tis!’saidMr.Peggotty,feelingmyshoulders.‘Asachip!Sityedown,sir.Itain’to’nousesayingwelcometoyou,butyou’rewelcome,kindandhearty.’

           ‘Thankyou,Mr.Peggotty,Iamsureofthat.Well,Peggotty!’saidI,givingherakiss.‘Andhowareyou,oldwoman?’

           ‘Ha,ha!’laughedMr.Peggotty,sittingdownbesideus,andrubbinghishandsinhissenseofrelieffromrecenttrouble,andinthegenuineheartinessofhisnature;‘there’snotawomaninthewureld,sirasItellherthatneedtofeelmoreeasyinhermindthanher!Shedoneherdootybythedeparted,andthedepartedknow’dit;andthedeparteddonewhatwasrightbyher,asshedonewhatwasrightbythedeparted;andandandit’sallright!’

           Mrs.Gummidgegroaned.

           ‘Cheerup,myprittymawther!’saidMr.Peggotty.

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