Дэвид Копперфильд

I Am a New Boy in More Senses than One

           

           But,seeingalightinthelittleroundoffice,andimmediatelyfeelingmyselfattractedtowardsUriahHeep,whohadasortoffascinationforme,Iwentinthereinstead.IfoundUriahreadingagreatfatbook,withsuchdemonstrativeattention,thathislankforefingerfollowedupeverylineasheread,andmadeclammytracksalongthepage(orsoIfullybelieved)likeasnail.

           ‘Youareworkinglatetonight,Uriah,’saysI.

           ‘Yes,MasterCopperfield,’saysUriah.

           AsIwasgettingonthestoolopposite,totalktohimmoreconveniently,Iobservedthathehadnotsuchathingasasmileabouthim,andthathecouldonlywidenhismouthandmaketwohardcreasesdownhischeeks,oneoneachside,tostandforone.

           ‘Iamnotdoingoffice-work,MasterCopperfield,’saidUriah.

           ‘Whatwork,then?’Iasked.

           ‘Iamimprovingmylegalknowledge,MasterCopperfield,’saidUriah.‘IamgoingthroughTidd’sPractice.Oh,whatawriterMr.Tiddis,MasterCopperfield!’

           Mystoolwassuchatowerofobservation,thatasIwatchedhimreadingonagain,afterthisrapturousexclamation,andfollowingupthelineswithhisforefinger,Iobservedthathisnostrils,whichwerethinandpointed,withsharpdintsinthem,hadasingularandmostuncomfortablewayofexpandingandcontractingthemselvesthattheyseemedtotwinkleinsteadofhiseyes,whichhardlyevertwinkledatall.

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