Дэвид Копперфильд

A Dissolution of Partnership

           WhenhetoldmeIhadbettertakeaweektoconsiderofwhathehadsaid,howcouldIsayIwouldn’ttakeaweek,yethowcouldIfailtoknowthatnoamountofweekscouldinfluencesuchloveasmine?

           ‘Inthemeantime,conferwithMissTrotwood,orwithanypersonwithanyknowledgeoflife,’saidMr.Spenlow,adjustinghiscravatwithbothhands.‘Takeaweek,Mr.Copperfield.’

           Isubmitted;and,withacountenanceasexpressiveasIwasabletomakeitofdejectedanddespairingconstancy,cameoutoftheroom.MissMurdstone’sheavyeyebrowsfollowedmetothedoorIsayhereyebrowsratherthanhereyes,becausetheyweremuchmoreimportantinherfaceandshelookedsoexactlyassheusedtolook,ataboutthathourofthemorning,inourparlouratBlunderstone,thatIcouldhavefanciedIhadbeenbreakingdowninmylessonsagain,andthatthedeadweightonmymindwasthathorribleoldspelling-book,withovalwoodcuts,shaped,tomyyouthfulfancy,liketheglassesoutofspectacles.

           WhenIgottotheoffice,and,shuttingoutoldTiffeyandtherestofthemwithmyhands,satatmydesk,inmyownparticularnook,thinkingofthisearthquakethathadtakenplacesounexpectedly,andinthebitternessofmyspiritcursingJip,IfellintosuchastateoftormentaboutDora,thatIwonderIdidnottakeupmyhatandrushinsanelytoNorwood.

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