Дэвид Копперфильд

Wickfield and Heep

           Asitis,I’msureI’lltakeoffmotherdirectly,andonlytooappy.Iknowyou’llexcusetheprecautionsofaffection,won’tyou?Whatapity,MasterCopperfield,thatyoudidn’tcondescendtoreturnmyconfidence!I’msureIgaveyoueveryopportunity.Butyouneverhavecondescendedtome,asmuchasIcouldhavewished.Iknowyouhaveneverlikedme,asIhavelikedyou!’

           Allthistimehewassqueezingmyhandwithhisdampfishyfingers,whileImadeeveryeffortIdecentlycouldtogetitaway.ButIwasquiteunsuccessful.Hedrewitunderthesleeveofhismulberry-colouredgreat-coat,andIwalkedon,almostuponcompulsion,arm-in-armwithhim.

           ‘Shallweturn?’saidUriah,byandbywheelingmefaceabouttowardsthetown,onwhichtheearlymoonwasnowshining,silveringthedistantwindows.

           ‘Beforeweleavethesubject,yououghttounderstand,’saidI,breakingaprettylongsilence,‘thatIbelieveAgnesWickfieldtobeasfaraboveyou,andasfarremovedfromallyouraspirations,asthatmoonherself!’

           ‘Peaceful!Ain’tshe!’saidUriah.‘Very!Nowconfess,MasterCopperfield,thatyouhaven’tlikedmequiteasIhavelikedyou.Allalongyou’vethoughtmetooumblenow,Ishouldn’twonder?’

           ‘Iamnotfondofprofessionsofhumility,’Ireturned,‘orprofessionsofanythingelse.’‘Therenow!’saidUriah,lookingflabbyandlead-colouredinthemoonlight.

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