Дэвид Копперфильд

A Dissolution of Partnership

           Icomplied,inaveryuncomfortablestate,andwithawarmshootingalloverme,asifmyapprehensionswerebreakingoutintobuds.WhenIallowedhimtogoonalittlebefore,onaccountofthenarrownessoftheway,Iobservedthathecarriedhisheadwithaloftyairthatwasparticularlyunpromising;andmymindmisgavemethathehadfoundoutaboutmydarlingDora.

           IfIhadnotguessedthis,onthewaytothecoffee-house,IcouldhardlyhavefailedtoknowwhatwasthematterwhenIfollowedhimintoanupstairsroom,andfoundMissMurdstonethere,supportedbyabackgroundofsideboard,onwhichwereseveralinvertedtumblerssustaininglemons,andtwoofthoseextraordinaryboxes,allcornersandflutings,forstickingknivesandforksin,which,happilyformankind,arenowobsolete.

           MissMurdstonegavemeherchillyfinger-nails,andsatseverelyrigid.Mr.Spenlowshutthedoor,motionedmetoachair,andstoodonthehearth-ruginfrontofthefireplace.

           ‘HavethegoodnesstoshowMr.Copperfield,’saidMr.Spenlow,whatyouhaveinyourreticule,MissMurdstone.’

           Ibelieveitwastheoldidenticalsteel-claspedreticuleofmychildhood,thatshutuplikeabite.Compressingherlips,insympathywiththesnap,MissMurdstoneopeneditopeninghermouthalittleatthesametimeandproducedmylastlettertoDora,teemingwithexpressionsofdevotedaffection.

           ‘Ibelievethatisyourwriting,Mr.Copperfield?’saidMr.Spenlow.

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