Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           Acompleterevolution,inwhichPeggottyboreaprominentpart,wasbeingeffectedineverycornerofmyrooms,inregardofthispepper;andIwaslookingon,thinkinghowlittleevenPeggottyseemedtodowithagooddealofbustle,andhowmuchAgnesdidwithoutanybustleatall,whenaknockcameatthedoor.

           ‘Ithink,’saidAgnes,turningpale,‘it’spapa.Hepromisedmethathewouldcome.’

           Iopenedthedoor,andadmitted,notonlyMr.Wickfield,butUriahHeep.IhadnotseenMr.Wickfieldforsometime.Iwaspreparedforagreatchangeinhim,afterwhatIhadheardfromAgnes,buthisappearanceshockedme.

           Itwasnotthathelookedmanyyearsolder,thoughstilldressedwiththeoldscrupulouscleanliness;orthattherewasanunwholesomeruddinessuponhisface;orthathiseyeswerefullandbloodshot;orthattherewasanervoustremblinginhishand,thecauseofwhichIknew,andhadforsomeyearsseenatwork.Itwasnotthathehadlosthisgoodlooks,orhisoldbearingofagentlemanforthathehadnotbutthethingthatstruckmemost,was,thatwiththeevidencesofhisnativesuperioritystilluponhim,heshouldsubmithimselftothatcrawlingimpersonationofmeanness,UriahHeep.Thereversalofthetwonatures,intheirrelativepositions,Uriah’sofpowerandMr.Wickfield’sofdependence,wasasightmorepainfultomethanIcanexpress.IfIhadseenanApetakingcommandofaMan,Ishouldhardlyhavethoughtitamoredegradingspectacle.

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