Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           

           ‘You’reapartneryourself,youknow,’returnedmyaunt,‘andthat’saboutenoughforyou,Iexpect.Howdoyoufindyourself,sir?’

           Inacknowledgementofthisquestion,addressedtohimwithextraordinarycurtness,Mr.Heep,uncomfortablyclutchingthebluebaghecarried,repliedthathewasprettywell,hethankedmyaunt,andhopedshewasthesame.

           ‘Andyou,MasterIshouldsay,MisterCopperfield,’pursuedUriah.‘IhopeIseeyouwell!Iamrejoicedtoseeyou,MisterCopperfield,evenunderpresentcircumstances.’Ibelievedthat;forheseemedtorelishthemverymuch.‘Presentcircumstancesisnotwhatyourfriendswouldwishforyou,MisterCopperfield,butitisn’tmoneymakestheman:it’sIamreallyunequalwithmyumblepowerstoexpresswhatitis,’saidUriah,withafawningjerk,‘butitisn’tmoney!’

           Hereheshookhandswithme:notinthecommonway,butstandingatagooddistancefromme,andliftingmyhandupanddownlikeapumphandle,thathewasalittleafraidof.

           ‘Andhowdoyouthinkwearelooking,MasterCopperfield,Ishouldsay,Mister?’fawnedUriah.‘Don’tyoufindMr.Wickfieldblooming,sir?Yearsdon’ttellmuchinourfirm,MasterCopperfield,exceptinraisinguptheumble,namely,motherandselfandindeveloping,’headded,asanafterthought,‘thebeautiful,namely,MissAgnes.

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