Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Dick fulfils my aunt’s Predictions

           Markleham,withaflourishofherfan,‘thenit’llbeanotherthing.YoumightputMEintoaJail,withgenteelsocietyandarubber,andIshouldnevercaretocomeout.ButIamnotAnnie,youknow;andAnnieisnothermother.’

           ‘Surely,surely,’saidtheDoctor.

           ‘Youarethebestofcreaturesno,Ibegyourpardon!’fortheDoctormadeagestureofdeprecation,‘Imustsaybeforeyourface,asIalwayssaybehindyourback,youarethebestofcreatures;butofcourseyoudon’tnowdoyou?enterintothesamepursuitsandfanciesasAnnie?’

           ‘No,’saidtheDoctor,inasorrowfultone.

           ‘No,ofcoursenot,’retortedtheOldSoldier.‘TakeyourDictionary,forexample.WhatausefulworkaDictionaryis!Whatanecessarywork!Themeaningsofwords!WithoutDoctorJohnson,orsomebodyofthatsort,wemighthavebeenatthispresentmomentcallinganItalian-iron,abedstead.Butwecan’texpectaDictionaryespeciallywhenit’smakingtointerestAnnie,canwe?’

           TheDoctorshookhishead.

           ‘Andthat’swhyIsomuchapprove,’saidMrs.Markleham,tappinghimontheshoulderwithhershut-upfan,‘ofyourthoughtfulness.Itshowsthatyoudon’texpect,asmanyelderlypeopledoexpect,oldheadsonyoungshoulders.YouhavestudiedAnnie’scharacter,andyouunderstandit.

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