Дэвид Копперфильд

I Look About Me, and Make a Discovery

           Ihavenotbeenintownhalf-a-dozenhours,andthoseIhavebeendozingandgrumblingawayattheplay.’

           ‘Ihavebeenattheplay,too,’saidI.‘AtCoventGarden.Whatadelightfulandmagnificententertainment,Steerforth!’

           Steerforthlaughedheartily.

           ‘MydearyoungDavy,’hesaid,clappingmeontheshoulderagain,‘youareaveryDaisy.Thedaisyofthefield,atsunrise,isnotfresherthanyouare.IhavebeenatCoventGarden,too,andthereneverwasamoremiserablebusiness.Holloa,yousir!’

           Thiswasaddressedtothewaiter,whohadbeenveryattentivetoourrecognition,atadistance,andnowcameforwarddeferentially.

           ‘Wherehaveyouputmyfriend,Mr.Copperfield?’saidSteerforth.

           ‘Begyourpardon,sir?’

           ‘Wheredoeshesleep?What’shisnumber?YouknowwhatImean,’saidSteerforth.

           ‘Well,sir,’saidthewaiter,withanapologeticair.‘Mr.Copperfieldisatpresentinforty-four,sir.’

           ‘Andwhatthedevildoyoumean,’retortedSteerforth,‘byputtingMr.Copperfieldintoalittleloftoverastable?’

           ‘Why,youseewewasn’taware,sir,’returnedthewaiter,stillapologetically,‘asMr.Copperfieldwasanywaysparticular.WecangiveMr.Copperfieldseventy-two,sir,ifitwouldbepreferred.Nextyou,sir.’

           ‘Ofcourseitwouldbepreferred,’saidSteerforth.‘Anddoitatonce

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