Дэвид Копперфильд

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           Now,sir,aboutthatbrainofyours,ifyou’llexcusemyreturningtoit.Don’tyouexposeittoagooddealofexcitement,sir?’

           Ifounditnotdifficult,intheexcitementofMr.Chillip’sownbrain,underhispotationsofnegus,todiverthisattentionfromthistopictohisownaffairs,onwhich,forthenexthalf-hour,hewasquiteloquacious;givingmetounderstand,amongotherpiecesofinformation,thathewasthenattheGray’sInnCoffee-housetolayhisprofessionalevidencebeforeaCommissionofLunacy,touchingthestateofmindofapatientwhohadbecomederangedfromexcessivedrinking.‘AndIassureyou,sir,’hesaid,‘Iamextremelynervousonsuchoccasions.IcouldnotsupportbeingwhatiscalledBullied,sir.Itwouldquiteunmanme.DoyouknowitwassometimebeforeIrecoveredtheconductofthatalarminglady,onthenightofyourbirth,Mr.Copperfield?’

           ItoldhimthatIwasgoingdowntomyaunt,theDragonofthatnight,earlyinthemorning;andthatshewasoneofthemosttender-heartedandexcellentofwomen,ashewouldknowfullwellifheknewherbetter.Themerenotionofthepossibilityofhiseverseeingheragain,appearedtoterrifyhim.Herepliedwithasmallpalesmile,‘Issheso,indeed,sir?Really?’andalmostimmediatelycalledforacandle,andwenttobed,asifhewerenotquitesafeanywhereelse

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