Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           Youknowwhatheis!’

           IamsureIknewnothingabouthim,exceptthathehadoriginallybeenaloneinthebusiness,andnowlivedbyhimselfinahousenearMontaguSquare,whichwasfearfullyinwantofpainting;thathecameverylateofaday,andwentawayveryearly;thatheneverappearedtobeconsultedaboutanything;andthathehadadingylittleblack-holeofhisownupstairs,wherenobusinesswaseverdone,andwheretherewasayellowoldcartridge-paperpaduponhisdesk,unsoiledbyink,andreportedtobetwentyyearsofage.

           ‘Wouldyouobjecttomymentioningittohim,sir?’Iasked.

           ‘Bynomeans,’saidMr.Spenlow.‘ButIhavesomeexperienceofMr.jorkins,Copperfield.Iwishitwereotherwise,forIshouldbehappytomeetyourviewsinanyrespect.IcannothavetheobjectiontoyourmentioningittoMr.jorkins,Copperfield,ifyouthinkitworthwhile.’

           Availingmyselfofthispermission,whichwasgivenwithawarmshakeofthehand,IsatthinkingaboutDora,andlookingatthesunlightstealingfromthechimney-potsdownthewalloftheoppositehouse,untilMr.jorkinscame.IthenwentuptoMr.jorkins’sroom,andevidentlyastonishedMr.jorkinsverymuchbymakingmyappearancethere.

           ‘Comein,Mr.Copperfield,’saidMr.jorkins.‘Comein!’

           Iwentin,andsatdown;andstatedmycasetoMr.jorkinsprettymuchasIhadstatedittoMr.Spenlow.Mr.

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