Дэвид Копперфильд

Domestic

           ‘Oh,youcruelfellow,tocompareyouraffectionatewifetoatransportedpage!Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouropinionofmebeforeweweremarried?Whydidn’tyousay,youhard-heartedthing,thatyouwereconvincedIwasworsethanatransportedpage?Oh,whatadreadfulopiniontohaveofme!Oh,mygoodness!’

           ‘Now,Dora,mylove,’Ireturned,gentlytryingtoremovethehandkerchiefshepressedtohereyes,‘thisisnotonlyveryridiculousofyou,butverywrong.Inthefirstplace,it’snottrue.’

           ‘Youalwayssaidhewasastory-teller,’sobbedDora.‘Andnowyousaythesameofme!Oh,whatshallIdo!WhatshallIdo!’

           ‘Mydarlinggirl,’Iretorted,‘Ireallymustentreatyoutobereasonable,andlistentowhatIdidsay,anddosay.MydearDora,unlesswelearntodoourdutytothosewhomweemploy,theywillneverlearntodotheirdutytous.Iamafraidwepresentopportunitiestopeopletodowrong,thatneveroughttobepresented.Evenifwewereaslaxasweare,inallourarrangements,bychoicewhichwearenotevenifwelikedit,andfounditagreeabletobesowhichwedon’tIampersuadedweshouldhavenorighttogooninthisway.Wearepositivelycorruptingpeople.Weareboundtothinkofthat.Ican’thelpthinkingofit,Dora.ItisareflectionIamunabletodismiss,anditsometimesmakesmeveryuneasy.There,dear,that’sall.Comenow.

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