Девід Копперфільд

I Am Sent Away from Home

           Mellhavingleftmewhilehetookhisirreparablebootsupstairs,Iwentsoftlytotheupperendoftheroom,observingallthisasIcreptalong.SuddenlyIcameuponapasteboardplacard,beautifullywritten,whichwaslyingonthedesk,andborethesewords:‘TAKECAREOFHIM.HEBITES.’

           Igotuponthedeskimmediately,apprehensiveofatleastagreatdogunderneath.But,thoughIlookedallroundwithanxiouseyes,Icouldseenothingofhim.Iwasstillengagedinpeeringabout,whenMr.Mellcameback,andaskedmewhatIdidupthere?

           ‘Ibegyourpardon,sir,’saysI,‘ifyouplease,I’mlookingforthedog.’

           ‘Dog?’hesays.‘Whatdog?’

           ‘Isn’titadog,sir?’

           ‘Isn’twhatadog?’

           ‘That’stobetakencareof,sir;thatbites.’

           ‘No,Copperfield,’sayshe,gravely,‘that’snotadog.That’saboy.Myinstructionsare,Copperfield,toputthisplacardonyourback.Iamsorrytomakesuchabeginningwithyou,butImustdoit.’Withthathetookmedown,andtiedtheplacard,whichwasneatlyconstructedforthepurpose,onmyshoulderslikeaknapsack;andwhereverIwent,afterwards,Ihadtheconsolationofcarryingit.

           WhatIsufferedfromthatplacard,nobodycanimagine.Whetheritwaspossibleforpeopletoseemeornot,Ialwaysfanciedthatsomebodywasreadingit.

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Roboto Lora
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