Холодный дом

Deportment

           Theson,inheritinghismother’sbelief,andhavingthedeportmentalwaysbeforehim,hadlivedandgrowninthesamefaith,andnow,atthirtyyearsofage,workedforhisfathertwelvehoursadayandlookeduptohimwithvenerationontheoldimaginarypinnacle."Theairsthefellowgiveshimself!"saidmyinformant,shakingherheadatoldMr.Turveydropwithspeechlessindignationashedrewonhistightgloves,ofcourseunconsciousofthehomageshewasrendering."Hefullybelievesheisoneofthearistocracy!Andheissocondescendingtothesonhesoegregiouslydeludesthatyoumightsupposehimthemostvirtuousofparents.Oh!"saidtheoldlady,apostrophizinghimwithinfinitevehemence."Icouldbiteyou!"Icouldnothelpbeingamused,thoughIheardtheoldladyoutwithfeelingsofrealconcern.Itwasdifficulttodoubtherwiththefatherandsonbeforeme.WhatImighthavethoughtofthemwithouttheoldlady’saccount,orwhatImighthavethoughtoftheoldlady’saccountwithoutthem,Icannotsay.Therewasafitnessofthingsinthewholethatcarriedconvictionwithit.Myeyeswereyetwandering,fromyoungMr.Turveydropworkingsohard,tooldMr.Turveydropdeportinghimselfsobeautifully,whenthelattercameamblinguptomeandenteredintoconversation.Heaskedme,firstofall,whetherIconferredacharmandadistinctiononLondonbyresidinginit?IdidnotthinkitnecessarytoreplythatIwasperfectlyawareIshouldnotdothat,inanycase,butmerelytoldhimwhereIdidreside.

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