Дэвид Копперфильд

My First Dissipation

           

           ‘MydearSteerforth,’criedI,‘IbegantothinkIshouldneverseeyouagain!’

           ‘Iwascarriedoff,byforceofarms,’saidSteerforth,‘theverynextmorningafterIgothome.Why,Daisy,whatarareoldbacheloryouarehere!’

           Ishowedhimovertheestablishment,notomittingthepantry,withnolittlepride,andhecommendedithighly.‘Itellyouwhat,oldboy,’headded,‘Ishallmakequiteatown-houseofthisplace,unlessyougivemenoticetoquit.’

           Thiswasadelightfulhearing.Itoldhimifhewaitedforthat,hewouldhavetowaittilldoomsday.

           ‘Butyoushallhavesomebreakfast!’saidI,withmyhandonthebell-rope,‘andMrs.Cruppshallmakeyousomefreshcoffee,andI’lltoastyousomebaconinabachelor’sDutch-oven,thatIhavegothere.’

           ‘No,no!’saidSteerforth.‘Don’tring!Ican’t!IamgoingtobreakfastwithoneofthesefellowswhoisatthePiazzaHotel,inCoventGarden.’

           ‘Butyou’llcomebacktodinner?’saidI.

           ‘Ican’t,uponmylife.There’snothingIshouldlikebetter,butImustremainwiththesetwofellows.Weareallthreeofftogethertomorrowmorning.’

           ‘Thenbringthemheretodinner,’Ireturned.‘Doyouthinktheywouldcome?’

           ‘Oh!theywouldcomefastenough,’saidSteerforth;‘butweshouldinconvenienceyou.Youhadbettercomeanddinewithussomewhere.

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