Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           Asimpleton!’

           Myaunt’stearsofpleasurewerepositivelytricklingdownintothewarmale.

           ‘She’sthemostridiculouscreaturethateverwasborn,’saidmyaunt.‘Iknew,fromthefirstmomentwhenIsawherwiththatpoordearblessedbabyofamotherofyours,thatshewasthemostridiculousofmortals.ButtherearegoodpointsinBarkis!’

           Affectingtolaugh,shegotanopportunityofputtingherhandtohereyes.Havingavailedherselfofit,sheresumedhertoastandherdiscoursetogether.

           ‘Ah!Mercyuponus!’sighedmyaunt.‘Iknowallaboutit,Trot!BarkisandmyselfhadquiteagossipwhileyouwereoutwithDick.Iknowallaboutit.Idon’tknowwherethesewretchedgirlsexpecttogoto,formypart.Iwondertheydon’tknockouttheirbrainsagainstagainstmantelpieces,’saidmyaunt;anideawhichwasprobablysuggestedtoherbyhercontemplationofmine.

           ‘PoorEmily!’saidI.

           ‘Oh,don’ttalktomeaboutpoor,’returnedmyaunt.‘Sheshouldhavethoughtofthat,beforeshecausedsomuchmisery!Givemeakiss,Trot.Iamsorryforyourearlyexperience.’

           AsIbentforward,sheputhertumbleronmykneetodetainme,andsaid:

           ‘Oh,Trot,Trot!Andsoyoufancyyourselfinlove!Doyou?’

           ‘Fancy,aunt!’Iexclaimed,asredasIcouldbe.‘Iadoreherwithmywholesoul!’

           ‘Dora,indeed!’returnedmyaunt.

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