Дэвид Копперфильд

I Observe

           Mymother,contrarytoherusualhabit,insteadofcomingtotheelbow-chairbythefire,remainedattheotherendoftheroom,andsatsingingtoherself.

           -‘Hopeyouhavehadapleasantevening,ma’am,’saidPeggotty,standingasstiffasabarrelinthecentreoftheroom,withacandlestickinherhand.

           ‘Muchobligedtoyou,Peggotty,’returnedmymother,inacheerfulvoice,‘IhavehadaVERYpleasantevening.’

           ‘Astrangerorsomakesanagreeablechange,’suggestedPeggotty.

           ‘Averyagreeablechange,indeed,’returnedmymother.

           Peggottycontinuingtostandmotionlessinthemiddleoftheroom,andmymotherresuminghersinging,Ifellasleep,thoughIwasnotsosoundasleepbutthatIcouldhearvoices,withouthearingwhattheysaid.WhenIhalfawokefromthisuncomfortabledoze,IfoundPeggottyandmymotherbothintears,andbothtalking.

           ‘Notsuchaoneasthis,Mr.Copperfieldwouldn’thaveliked,’saidPeggotty.‘ThatIsay,andthatIswear!’

           ‘GoodHeavens!’criedmymother,‘you’lldrivememad!Waseveranypoorgirlsoill-usedbyherservantsasIam!WhydoIdomyselftheinjusticeofcallingmyselfagirl?HaveIneverbeenmarried,Peggotty?’

           ‘Godknowsyouhave,ma’am,’returnedPeggotty.

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