Дэвид Копперфильд

I Look About Me, and Make a Discovery

           Iwasstillpainfullyconsciousofmyyouth,fornobodystoodinanyaweofmeatall:thechambermaidbeingutterlyindifferenttomyopinionsonanysubject,andthewaiterbeingfamiliarwithme,andofferingadvicetomyinexperience.

           ‘Wellnow,’saidthewaiter,inatoneofconfidence,‘whatwouldyoulikefordinner?Younggentlemenlikespoultryingeneral:haveafowl!’

           Itoldhim,asmajesticallyasIcould,thatIwasn’tinthehumourforafowl.

           ‘Ain’tyou?’saidthewaiter.‘Younggentlemenisgenerallytiredofbeefandmutton:haveawealcutlet!’

           Iassentedtothisproposal,indefaultofbeingabletosuggestanythingelse.

           ‘Doyoucarefortaters?’saidthewaiter,withaninsinuatingsmile,andhisheadononeside.‘Younggentlemengenerallyhasbeenoverdosedwithtaters.’

           Icommandedhim,inmydeepestvoice,toorderavealcutletandpotatoes,andallthingsfitting;andtoinquireatthebariftherewereanylettersforTrotwoodCopperfield,EsquirewhichIknewtherewerenot,andcouldn’tbe,butthoughtitmanlytoappeartoexpect.

           Hesooncamebacktosaythattherewerenone(atwhichIwasmuchsurprised)andbegantolaytheclothformydinnerinaboxbythefire.

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