Дэвид Копперфильд

My Holidays. Especially One Happy Afternoon

           andMissMurdstoneinit,everywhere:amonstrousloadthatIwasobligedtobear,adaymarethattherewasnopossibilityofbreakingin,aweightthatbroodedonmywits,andbluntedthem!

           WhatmealsIhadinsilenceandembarrassment,alwaysfeelingthattherewereaknifeandforktoomany,andthatmine;anappetitetoomany,andthatmine;aplateandchairtoomany,andthosemine;asomebodytoomany,andthatI!

           Whatevenings,whenthecandlescame,andIwasexpectedtoemploymyself,but,notdaringtoreadanentertainingbook,poredoversomehard-headed,harder-heartedtreatiseonarithmetic;whenthetablesofweightsandmeasuressetthemselvestotunes,as‘RuleBritannia’,or‘AwaywithMelancholy’;whentheywouldn’tstandstilltobelearnt,butwouldgothreadingmygrandmother’sneedlethroughmyunfortunatehead,inatoneearandoutattheother!WhatyawnsanddozesIlapsedinto,inspiteofallmycare;whatstartsIcameoutofconcealedsleepswith;whatanswersInevergot,tolittleobservationsthatIrarelymade;whatablankspaceIseemed,whicheverybodyoverlooked,andyetwasineverybody’sway;whataheavyreliefitwastohearMissMurdstonehailthefirststrokeofnineatnight,andordermetobed!

           Thustheholidayslaggedaway,untilthemorningcamewhenMissMurdstonesaid:‘Here’sthelastdayoff!’andgavemetheclosingcupofteaofthevacation.

           Iwasnotsorrytogo

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