Дэвид Копперфильд

Mischief

           

           ‘Don’tyouthink,ifIhadhadherforafriendalongtimeago,Doady,’saidDora,herbrighteyesshiningverybrightly,andherlittlerighthandidlybusyingitselfwithoneofthebuttonsofmycoat,‘Imighthavebeenmorecleverperhaps?’

           ‘Mylove!’saidI,‘whatnonsense!’

           ‘Doyouthinkitisnonsense?’returnedDora,withoutlookingatme.‘Areyousureitis?’

           ‘OfcourseIam!’‘Ihaveforgotten,’saidDora,stillturningthebuttonroundandround,‘whatrelationAgnesistoyou,youdearbadboy.’

           ‘Noblood-relation,’Ireplied;‘butwewerebroughtuptogether,likebrotherandsister.’

           ‘Iwonderwhyyoueverfellinlovewithme?’saidDora,beginningonanotherbuttonofmycoat.

           ‘PerhapsbecauseIcouldn’tseeyou,andnotloveyou,Dora!’

           ‘Supposeyouhadneverseenmeatall,’saidDora,goingtoanotherbutton.

           ‘Supposewehadneverbeenborn!’saidI,gaily.

           Iwonderedwhatshewasthinkingabout,asIglancedinadmiringsilenceatthelittlesofthandtravellinguptherowofbuttonsonmycoat,andattheclusteringhairthatlayagainstmybreast,andatthelashesofherdowncasteyes,slightlyrisingastheyfollowedheridlefingers.

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Roboto Lora
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