Дэвид Копперфильд

Enthusiasm

           Agentlemanonhorsebackcametothegate,andleadinghishorseintothelittlecourt,withthebridleoverhisarm,asifhewerequiteathome,tiedhimtoaringintheemptycoach-housewall,andcameintothebreakfastparlour,whipinhand.ItwasMr.JackMaldon;andMr.JackMaldonwasnotatallimprovedbyIndia,Ithought.Iwasinastateofferociousvirtue,however,astoyoungmenwhowerenotcuttingdowntreesintheforestofdifficulty;andmyimpressionmustbereceivedwithdueallowance.

           ‘Mr.Jack!’saidtheDoctor.‘Copperfield!’

           Mr.JackMaldonshookhandswithme;butnotverywarmly,Ibelieved;andwithanairoflanguidpatronage,atwhichIsecretlytookgreatumbrage.Buthislanguoraltogetherwasquiteawonderfulsight;exceptwhenheaddressedhimselftohiscousinAnnie.‘Haveyoubreakfastedthismorning,Mr.Jack?’saidtheDoctor.

           ‘Ihardlyevertakebreakfast,sir,’hereplied,withhisheadthrownbackinaneasy-chair.‘Ifinditboresme.’

           ‘Isthereanynewstoday?’inquiredtheDoctor.

           ‘Nothingatall,sir,’repliedMr.Maldon.‘There’sanaccountaboutthepeoplebeinghungryanddiscontenteddownintheNorth,buttheyarealwaysbeinghungryanddiscontentedsomewhere.’

           TheDoctorlookedgrave,andsaid,asthoughhewishedtochangethesubject,‘Thenthere’snonewsatall;andnonews,theysay,isgoodnews.

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