Дэвид Копперфильд

I Fall into Disgrace

           Howd’yedo,boy?’

           Undertheseencouragingcircumstances,IrepliedthatIwasverywell,andthatIhopedshewasthesame;withsuchanindifferentgrace,thatMissMurdstonedisposedofmeintwowords:

           ‘Wantsmanner!’

           Havingutteredwhich,withgreatdistinctness,shebeggedthefavourofbeingshowntoherroom,whichbecametomefromthattimeforthaplaceofaweanddread,whereinthetwoblackboxeswereneverseenopenorknowntobeleftunlocked,andwhere(forIpeepedinonceortwicewhenshewasout)numerouslittlesteelfettersandrivets,withwhichMissMurdstoneembellishedherselfwhenshewasdressed,generallyhunguponthelooking-glassinformidablearray.

           AswellasIcouldmakeout,shehadcomeforgood,andhadnointentionofevergoingagain.Shebeganto‘help’mymothernextmorning,andwasinandoutofthestore-closetallday,puttingthingstorights,andmakinghavocintheoldarrangements.AlmostthefirstremarkablethingIobservedinMissMurdstonewas,herbeingconstantlyhauntedbyasuspicionthattheservantshadamansecretedsomewhereonthepremises.Undertheinfluenceofthisdelusion,shedivedintothecoal-cellaratthemostuntimelyhours,andscarcelyeveropenedthedoorofadarkcupboardwithoutclappingittoagain,inthebeliefthatshehadgothim.

           ThoughtherewasnothingveryairyaboutMissMurdstone,shewasaperfectLarkinpointofgettingup.

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