Дэвид Копперфильд

I Assist at an Explosion

           ButtherewasnovacancyforatenorinthevenerablePileforwhichthiscityissojustlyeminent;andhehasinshort,hehascontractedahabitofsinginginpublic-houses,ratherthaninsacrededifices.’

           ‘Buthemeanswell,’saidMrs.Micawber,tenderly.

           ‘Idaresay,mylove,’rejoinedMr.Micawber,‘thathemeansparticularlywell;butIhavenotyetfoundthathecarriesouthismeaning,inanygivendirectionwhatsoever.’

           MasterMicawber’smorosenessofaspectreturneduponhimagain,andhedemanded,withsometemper,whathewastodo?Whetherhehadbeenbornacarpenter,oracoach-painter,anymorethanhehadbeenbornabird?Whetherhecouldgointothenextstreet,andopenachemist’sshop?Whetherhecouldrushtothenextassizes,andproclaimhimselfalawyer?Whetherhecouldcomeoutbyforceattheopera,andsucceedbyviolence?Whetherhecoulddoanything,withoutbeingbroughtuptosomething?

           Myauntmusedalittlewhile,andthensaid:

           ‘Mr.Micawber,Iwonderyouhaveneverturnedyourthoughtstoemigration.’

           ‘Madam,’returnedMr.Micawber,‘itwasthedreamofmyyouth,andthefallaciousaspirationofmyriperyears.’Iamthoroughlypersuaded,bytheby,thathehadneverthoughtofitinhislife.

           ‘Aye?’saidmyaunt,withaglanceatme.‘Why,whatathingitwouldbeforyourselvesandyourfamily,Mr.andMrs.Micawber,ifyouweretoemigratenow.

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