Дэвид Копперфильд

A Dissolution of Partnership

           But,astoreadingthemafterIhadgotthem,ImightaswellhavecopiedtheChineseinscriptionsofanimmensecollectionoftea-chests,orthegoldencharactersonallthegreatredandgreenbottlesinthechemists’shops!

           Therewasnothingforit,buttoturnbackandbeginalloveragain.Itwasveryhard,butIturnedback,thoughwithaheavyheart,andbeganlaboriouslyandmethodicallytoplodoverthesametediousgroundatasnail’space;stoppingtoexamineminutelyeveryspeckintheway,onallsides,andmakingthemostdesperateeffortstoknowtheseelusivecharactersbysightwhereverImetthem.Iwasalwayspunctualattheoffice;attheDoctor’stoo:andIreallydidwork,asthecommonexpressionis,likeacart-horse.Oneday,whenIwenttotheCommonsasusual,IfoundMr.Spenlowinthedoorwaylookingextremelygrave,andtalkingtohimself.Ashewasinthehabitofcomplainingofpainsinhisheadhehadnaturallyashortthroat,andIdoseriouslybelieveheover-starchedhimselfIwasatfirstalarmedbytheideathathewasnotquiterightinthatdirection;buthesoonrelievedmyuneasiness.

           Insteadofreturningmy‘Goodmorning’withhisusualaffability,helookedatmeinadistant,ceremoniousmanner,andcoldlyrequestedmetoaccompanyhimtoacertaincoffee-house,which,inthosedays,hadadooropeningintotheCommons,justwithinthelittlearchwayinSt.Paul’sChurchyard.

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