Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           ‘Andyoumeantosaythelittlethingisveryfascinating,Isuppose?’

           ‘Mydearaunt,’Ireplied,‘noonecanformtheleastideawhatsheis!’

           ‘Ah!Andnotsilly?’saidmyaunt.

           ‘Silly,aunt!’

           Iseriouslybelieveithadneveronceenteredmyheadforasinglemoment,toconsiderwhethershewasornot.Iresentedtheidea,ofcourse;butIwasinamannerstruckbyit,asanewonealtogether.

           ‘Notlight-headed?’saidmyaunt.

           ‘Light-headed,aunt!’IcouldonlyrepeatthisdaringspeculationwiththesamekindoffeelingwithwhichIhadrepeatedtheprecedingquestion.

           ‘Well,well!’saidmyaunt.‘Ionlyask.Idon’tdepreciateher.Poorlittlecouple!Andsoyouthinkyouwereformedforoneanother,andaretogothroughaparty-supper-tablekindoflife,liketwoprettypiecesofconfectionery,doyou,Trot?’

           Sheaskedmethissokindly,andwithsuchagentleair,halfplayfulandhalfsorrowful,thatIwasquitetouched.

           ‘Weareyoungandinexperienced,aunt,Iknow,’Ireplied;‘andIdaresaywesayandthinkagooddealthatisratherfoolish.Butweloveoneanothertruly,Iamsure.

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Roboto Lora
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