Дэвид Копперфильд

A Little Cold Water

           Isooncarrieddesolationintothebosomofourjoys-notthatImeanttodoit,butthatIwassofullofthesubject-byaskingDora,withoutthesmallestpreparation,ifshecouldloveabeggar?

           Mypretty,little,startledDora!Heronlyassociationwiththewordwasayellowfaceandanightcap,orapairofcrutches,orawoodenleg,oradogwithadecanter-standinhismouth,orsomethingofthatkind;andshestaredatmewiththemostdelightfulwonder.

           ‘Howcanyouaskmeanythingsofoolish?’poutedDora.‘Loveabeggar!’

           ‘Dora,myowndearest!’saidI.‘Iamabeggar!’

           ‘Howcanyoubesuchasillything,’repliedDora,slappingmyhand,‘astositthere,tellingsuchstories?I’llmakeJipbiteyou!’

           Herchildishwaywasthemostdeliciouswayintheworldtome,butitwasnecessarytobeexplicit,andIsolemnlyrepeated:

           ‘Dora,myownlife,IamyourruinedDavid!’

           ‘IdeclareI’llmakeJipbiteyou!’saidDora,shakinghercurls,‘ifyouaresoridiculous.’

           ButIlookedsoserious,thatDoraleftoffshakinghercurls,andlaidhertremblinglittlehanduponmyshoulder,andfirstlookedscaredandanxious,thenbegantocry.Thatwasdreadful.

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