Дэвид Копперфильд

The Beginning of a Long Journey

           Oh,oh,oh!toolate!’

           PoorlittleMowcherturnedsochillyafterallhercryingandfretting,thatsheturnedroundonthefender,puttingherpoorlittlewetfeetinamongtheashestowarmthem,andsatlookingatthefire,likealargedoll.Isatinachairontheothersideofthehearth,lostinunhappyreflections,andlookingatthefiretoo,andsometimesather.

           ‘Imustgo,’shesaidatlast,risingasshespoke.‘It’slate.Youdon’tmistrustme?’

           Meetinghersharpglance,whichwasassharpaseverwhensheaskedme,Icouldnotonthatshortchallengeanswerno,quitefrankly.

           ‘Come!’saidshe,acceptingtheofferofmyhandtohelpheroverthefender,andlookingwistfullyupintomyface,‘youknowyouwouldn’tmistrustme,ifIwasafull-sizedwoman!’

           Ifeltthattherewasmuchtruthinthis;andIfeltratherashamedofmyself.

           ‘Youareayoungman,’shesaid,nodding.‘Takeawordofadvice,evenfromthreefootnothing.Trynottoassociatebodilydefectswithmental,mygoodfriend,exceptforasolidreason.’

           Shehadgotoverthefendernow,andIhadgotovermysuspicion.ItoldherthatIbelievedshehadgivenmeafaithfulaccountofherself,andthatwehadbothbeenhaplessinstrumentsindesigninghands.Shethankedme,andsaidIwasagoodfellow.

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