Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           Iamalwaysdisengagedafterfourorfiveo’clock,andIhavetimeearlyinthemorning.Inonewayandanother,’saidI,consciousofreddeningalittleasIthoughtofthehoursandhoursIhaddevotedtofaggingabouttown,andtoandfroupontheNorwoodRoad,‘Ihaveabundanceoftime.’

           ‘Iknowyouwouldnotmind,’saidAgnes,comingtome,andspeakinginalowvoice,sofullofsweetandhopefulconsiderationthatIhearitnow,‘thedutiesofasecretary.’

           ‘Mind,mydearAgnes?’

           ‘Because,’continuedAgnes,‘DoctorStronghasactedonhisintentionofretiring,andhascometoliveinLondon;andheaskedpapa,Iknow,ifhecouldrecommendhimone.Don’tyouthinkhewouldratherhavehisfavouriteoldpupilnearhim,thananybodyelse?’

           ‘DearAgnes!’saidI.‘WhatshouldIdowithoutyou!Youarealwaysmygoodangel.Itoldyouso.Ineverthinkofyouinanyotherlight.’

           Agnesansweredwithherpleasantlaugh,thatonegoodAngel(meaningDora)wasenough;andwentontoremindmethattheDoctorhadbeenusedtooccupyhimselfinhisstudy,earlyinthemorning,andintheeveningandthatprobablymyleisurewouldsuithisrequirementsverywell.

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Roboto Lora
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