Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A Field Day and Bivouac — More new Friends — An Invitation to the Country

           Well,soshedoes;itcan’tbedenied;and,certainly,ifthereisonethingmorethananotherthatmakesagirllookuglyitisstooping.Ioftentellherthatwhenshegetsalittleoldershe’llbequitefrightful.Well,youareaquiz!’

           Mr.Tupmanhadnoobjectiontoearningthereputationatsocheaparate:sohelookedveryknowing,andsmiledmysteriously.

           ‘Whatasarcasticsmile,’saidtheadmiringRachael;‘IdeclareI’mquiteafraidofyou.’

           ‘Afraidofme!’

           ‘Oh,youcan’tdisguiseanythingfrommeIknowwhatthatsmilemeansverywell.’

           ‘What?’saidMr.Tupman,whohadnottheslightestnotionhimself.

           ‘Youmean,’saidtheamiableaunt,sinkinghervoicestilllower—‘youmean,thatyoudon’tthinkIsabella’sstoopingisasbadasEmily’sboldness.Well,sheisbold!YoucannotthinkhowwretcheditmakesmesometimesI’msureIcryaboutitforhourstogethermydearbrotherisSOgood,andsounsuspicious,thatheneverseesit;ifhedid,I’mquitecertainitwouldbreakhisheart.IwishIcouldthinkitwasonlymannerIhopeitmaybe—’(Heretheaffectionaterelativeheavedadeepsigh,andshookherheaddespondingly).

           ‘I’msureaunt’stalkingaboutus,’whisperedMissEmilyWardletohersister—‘I’mquitecertainofitshelookssomalicious.’

           ‘Isshe?’repliedIsabella.

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