Дэвид Копперфильд

I Assist at an Explosion

           

           ‘Don’twait,Micawber,’saidUriah.

           Mr.Micawber,withhishandupontherulerinhisbreast,stooderectbeforethedoor,mostunmistakablycontemplatingoneofhisfellow-men,andthatmanhisemployer.

           ‘Whatareyouwaitingfor?’saidUriah.‘Micawber!didyouhearmetellyounottowait?’

           ‘Yes!’repliedtheimmovableMr.Micawber.

           ‘ThenwhyDOyouwait?’saidUriah.

           ‘BecauseIinshort,choose,’repliedMr.Micawber,withaburst.

           Uriah’scheekslostcolour,andanunwholesomepaleness,stillfaintlytingedbyhispervadingred,overspreadthem.HelookedatMr.Micawberattentively,withhiswholefacebreathingshortandquickineveryfeature.

           ‘Youareadissipatedfellow,asalltheworldknows,’hesaid,withaneffortatasmile,‘andIamafraidyou’llobligemetogetridofyou.Goalong!I’lltalktoyoupresently.’

           ‘Ifthereisascoundrelonthisearth,’saidMr.Micawber,suddenlybreakingoutagainwiththeutmostvehemence,‘withwhomIhavealreadytalkedtoomuch,thatscoundrel’snameisHEEP!’

           Uriahfellback,asifhehadbeenstruckorstung.

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