Дэвид Копперфильд

Our Housekeeping

           

           ‘Thenletmealwaysstopandseeyouwrite.’

           ‘Iamafraidthatwon’timprovetheirbrightness,Dora.’

           ‘Yes,itwill!Because,youcleverboy,you’llnotforgetmethen,whileyouarefullofsilentfancies.Willyoumindit,ifIsaysomethingvery,verysilly?morethanusual?’inquiredDora,peepingovermyshoulderintomyface.

           ‘Whatwonderfulthingisthat?’saidI.

           ‘Pleaseletmeholdthepens,’saidDora.‘Iwanttohavesomethingtodowithallthosemanyhourswhenyouaresoindustrious.MayIholdthepens?’

           TheremembranceofherprettyjoywhenIsaidyes,bringstearsintomyeyes.ThenexttimeIsatdowntowrite,andregularlyafterwards,shesatinheroldplace,withasparebundleofpensatherside.Hertriumphinthisconnexionwithmywork,andherdelightwhenIwantedanewpenwhichIveryoftenfeignedtodo-suggestedtomeanewwayofpleasingmychild-wife.Ioccasionallymadeapretenceofwantingapageortwoofmanuscriptcopied.ThenDorawasinherglory.

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Roboto Lora
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