Дэвид Копперфильд

Mischief

           IhaveexposedonewhomIholdinmyheart,totrialsandaspersions—Icallthemaspersions,eventohavebeenconceivedinanybody’sinmostmind—ofwhichshenever,butforme,couldhavebeentheobject.’

           UriahHeepgaveakindofsnivel.Ithinktoexpresssympathy.

           ‘OfwhichmyAnnie,’saidtheDoctor,‘never,butforme,couldhavebeentheobject.Gentlemen,Iamoldnow,asyouknow;Idonotfeel,tonight,thatIhavemuchtolivefor.Butmylife—myLife—uponthetruthandhonourofthedearladywhohasbeenthesubjectofthisconversation!’

           Idonotthinkthatthebestembodimentofchivalry,therealizationofthehandsomestandmostromanticfigureeverimaginedbypainter,couldhavesaidthis,withamoreimpressiveandaffectingdignitythantheplainoldDoctordid.

           ‘ButIamnotprepared,’hewenton,‘todeny—perhapsImayhavebeen,withoutknowingit,insomedegreepreparedtoadmit—thatImayhaveunwittinglyensnaredthatladyintoanunhappymarriage.Iamamanquiteunaccustomedtoobserve;andIcannotbutbelievethattheobservationofseveralpeople,ofdifferentagesandpositions,alltooplainlytendinginonedirection(andthatsonatural),isbetterthanmine.

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