Дэвид Копперфильд

Mischief

           Markleham,whowasveryfondofamusements,andveryeasilydissatisfiedwithanythingelse,enteredintothemwithgreatgood-will,andwasloudinhercommendations.ButAnnie,inaspiritlessunhappyway,onlywentwhithershewasled,andseemedtohavenocareforanything.

           Ididnotknowwhattothink.Neitherdidmyaunt;whomusthavewalked,atvarioustimes,ahundredmilesinheruncertainty.Whatwasstrangestofallwas,thattheonlyrealreliefwhichseemedtomakeitswayintothesecretregionofthisdomesticunhappiness,madeitswaythereinthepersonofMr.Dick.

           Whathisthoughtswereonthesubject,orwhathisobservationwas,Iamasunabletoexplain,asIdaresayhewouldhavebeentoassistmeinthetask.But,asIhaverecordedinthenarrativeofmyschooldays,hisvenerationfortheDoctorwasunbounded;andthereisasubtletyofperceptioninrealattachment,evenwhenitisbornetowardsmanbyoneoftheloweranimals,whichleavesthehighestintellectbehind.Tothismindoftheheart,ifImaycallitso,inMr.Dick,somebrightrayofthetruthshotstraight.

           Hehadproudlyresumedhisprivilege,inmanyofhissparehours,ofwalkingupanddownthegardenwiththeDoctor;ashehadbeenaccustomedtopaceupanddownTheDoctor’sWalkatCanterbury.Butmatterswerenosoonerinthisstate,thanhedevotedallhissparetime(andgotupearliertomakeitmore)totheseperambulations.

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