Девід Копперфільд

I Am Sent Away from Home

           Mylovetomama.Yoursaffectionately.P.S.HesaysheparticularlywantsyoutoknowBARKISISWILLING.’

           WhenIhadtakenthiscommissiononmyselfprospectively,Mr.Barkisrelapsedintoperfectsilence;andI,feelingquitewornoutbyallthathadhappenedlately,laydownonasackinthecartandfellasleep.IsleptsoundlyuntilwegottoYarmouth;whichwassoentirelynewandstrangetomeintheinn-yardtowhichwedrove,thatIatonceabandonedalatenthopeIhadhadofmeetingwithsomeofMr.Peggotty’sfamilythere,perhapsevenwithlittleEm’lyherself.

           Thecoachwasintheyard,shiningverymuchallover,butwithoutanyhorsestoitasyet;anditlookedinthatstateasifnothingwasmoreunlikelythanitsevergoingtoLondon.Iwasthinkingthis,andwonderingwhatwouldultimatelybecomeofmybox,whichMr.Barkishadputdownontheyard-pavementbythepole(hehavingdrivenuptheyardtoturnhiscart),andalsowhatwouldultimatelybecomeofme,whenaladylookedoutofabow-windowwheresomefowlsandjointsofmeatwerehangingup,andsaid:

           ‘IsthatthelittlegentlemanfromBlunderstone?’

           ‘Yes,ma’am,’Isaid.

           ‘Whatname?’inquiredthelady.

           ‘Copperfield,ma’am,’Isaid.

           ‘Thatwon’tdo,’returnedthelady.‘Nobody’sdinnerispaidforhere,inthatname.’

           ‘IsitMurdstone,ma’am?’Isaid.

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Roboto Lora
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