Дэвид Копперфильд

My Aunt Makes up Her Mind About Me

           Murdstone,whosefacedarkenedmoreandmore,themoreheandmyauntobservedeachother,whichtheydidverynarrowly,‘astothebestmodeofbringinghimup;theyarefounded,inpart,onmyknowledgeofhim,andinpartonmyknowledgeofmyownmeansandresources.Iamresponsibleforthemtomyself,Iactuponthem,andIsaynomoreaboutthem.ItisenoughthatIplacethisboyundertheeyeofafriendofmyown,inarespectablebusiness;thatitdoesnotpleasehim;thatherunsawayfromit;makeshimselfacommonvagabondaboutthecountry;andcomeshere,inrags,toappealtoyou,MissTrotwood.Iwishtosetbeforeyou,honourably,theexactconsequencessofarastheyarewithinmyknowledgeofyourabettinghiminthisappeal.’

           ‘Butabouttherespectablebusinessfirst,’saidmyaunt.‘Ifhehadbeenyourownboy,youwouldhaveputhimtoit,justthesame,Isuppose?’

           ‘Ifhehadbeenmybrother’sownboy,’returnedMissMurdstone,strikingin,‘hischaracter,Itrust,wouldhavebeenaltogetherdifferent.’

           ‘Orifthepoorchild,hismother,hadbeenalive,hewouldstillhavegoneintotherespectablebusiness,wouldhe?’saidmyaunt.

           ‘Ibelieve,’saidMr.Murdstone,withaninclinationofhishead,‘thatClarawouldhavedisputednothingwhichmyselfandmysisterJaneMurdstonewereagreedwasforthebest.’

           MissMurdstoneconfirmedthiswithanaudiblemurmur.

           ‘Humph!’saidmyaunt.

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