Дэвид Копперфильд

I Begin Life on My Own Account, and Don’t Like it

           Idiscovered,however,thatthisyouthhadnotbeenchristenedbythatname,butthatithadbeenbestoweduponhiminthewarehouse,onaccountofhiscomplexion,whichwaspaleormealy.Mealy’sfatherwasawaterman,whohadtheadditionaldistinctionofbeingafireman,andwasengagedassuchatoneofthelargetheatres;wheresomeyoungrelationofMealy’sIthinkhislittlesisterdidImpsinthePantomimes.

           NowordscanexpressthesecretagonyofmysoulasIsunkintothiscompanionship;comparedthesehencefortheverydayassociateswiththoseofmyhappierchildhoodnottosaywithSteerforth,Traddles,andtherestofthoseboys;andfeltmyhopesofgrowinguptobealearnedanddistinguishedman,crushedinmybosom.ThedeepremembranceofthesenseIhad,ofbeingutterlywithouthopenow;oftheshameIfeltinmyposition;ofthemiseryitwastomyyounghearttobelievethatdaybydaywhatIhadlearned,andthought,anddelightedin,andraisedmyfancyandmyemulationupby,wouldpassawayfromme,littlebylittle,nevertobebroughtbackanymore;cannotbewritten.AsoftenasMickWalkerwentawayinthecourseofthatforenoon,ImingledmytearswiththewaterinwhichIwaswashingthebottles;andsobbedasiftherewereaflawinmyownbreast,anditwereindangerofbursting.

           Thecounting-houseclockwasathalfpasttwelve,andtherewasgeneralpreparationforgoingtodinner,whenMr.Quiniontappedatthecounting-housewindow,andbeckonedtometogoin.

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