Дэвид Копперфильд

Our Housekeeping

           

           ‘WillyoucallmeanameIwantyoutocallme?’inquiredDora,withoutmoving.

           ‘Whatisit?’Iaskedwithasmile.

           ‘It’sastupidname,’shesaid,shakinghercurlsforamoment.‘Child-wife.’

           Ilaughinglyaskedmychild-wifewhatherfancywasindesiringtobesocalled.Sheansweredwithoutmoving,otherwisethanasthearmItwinedabouthermayhavebroughtherblueeyesnearertome:

           ‘Idon’tmean,yousillyfellow,thatyoushouldusethenameinsteadofDora.Ionlymeanthatyoushouldthinkofmethatway.Whenyouaregoingtobeangrywithme,saytoyourself,“it’sonlymychild-wife!”WhenIamverydisappointing,say,“Iknew,alongtimeago,thatshewouldmakebutachild-wife!”WhenyoumisswhatIshouldliketobe,andIthinkcanneverbe,say,“stillmyfoolishchild-wifelovesme!”ForindeedIdo.’

           Ihadnotbeenseriouswithher;havingnoideauntilnow,thatshewasseriousherself.ButheraffectionatenaturewassohappyinwhatInowsaidtoherwithmywholeheart,thatherfacebecamealaughingonebeforeherglitteringeyesweredry.Shewassoonmychild-wifeindeed;sittingdownontheflooroutsidetheChineseHouse,ringingallthelittlebellsoneafteranother,topunishJipforhisrecentbadbehaviour;whileJiplayblinkinginthedoorwaywithhisheadout,eventoolazytobeteased.

           ThisappealofDora’smadeastrongimpressiononme.

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Roboto Lora
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