Дэвид Копперфильд

A Dissolution of Partnership

           

           Theclerkswerethere,butnobodywasdoinganything.OldTiffey,forthefirsttimeinhislifeIshouldthink,wassittingonsomebodyelse’sstool,andhadnothunguphishat.

           ‘Thisisadreadfulcalamity,Mr.Copperfield,’saidhe,asIentered.

           ‘Whatis?’Iexclaimed.‘What’sthematter?’

           ‘Don’tyouknow?’criedTiffey,andalltherestofthem,comingroundme.

           ‘No!’saidI,lookingfromfacetoface.

           ‘Mr.Spenlow,’saidTiffey.

           ‘Whatabouthim!’

           ‘Dead!’Ithoughtitwastheofficereeling,andnotI,asoneoftheclerkscaughtholdofme.Theysatmedowninachair,untiedmyneck-cloth,andbroughtmesomewater.Ihavenoideawhetherthistookanytime.

           ‘Dead?’saidI.

           ‘Hedinedintownyesterday,anddrovedowninthephaetonbyhimself,’saidTiffey,‘havingsenthisowngroomhomebythecoach,ashesometimesdid,youknow

           ‘Well?’

           ‘Thephaetonwenthomewithouthim.Thehorsesstoppedatthestable-gate.Themanwentoutwithalantern.Nobodyinthecarriage.’

           ‘Hadtheyrunaway?’

           ‘Theywerenothot,’saidTiffey,puttingonhisglasses;‘nohotter,Iunderstand,thantheywouldhavebeen,goingdownattheusualpace.Thereinswerebroken,buttheyhadbeendraggingontheground.

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