Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Micawber’s Gauntlet

           Crupp,inconsequenceofthetyrannysheestablishedoverme,wasdreadful.Ineverwassomuchafraidofanyone.Wemadeacompromiseofeverything.IfIhesitated,shewastakenwiththatwonderfuldisorderwhichwasalwayslyinginambushinhersystem,ready,attheshortestnotice,topreyuponhervitals.IfIrangthebellimpatiently,afterhalf-a-dozenunavailingmodestpulls,andsheappearedatlastwhichwasnotbyanymeanstobereliedupon—shewouldappearwithareproachfulaspect,sinkbreathlessonachairnearthedoor,layherhanduponhernankeenbosom,andbecomesoill,thatIwasglad,atanysacrificeofbrandyoranythingelse,togetridofher.IfIobjectedtohavingmybedmadeatfiveo’clockintheafternoon—whichIdostillthinkanuncomfortablearrangement—onemotionofherhandtowardsthesamenankeenregionofwoundedsensibilitywasenoughtomakemefalteranapology.Inshort,IwouldhavedoneanythinginanhonourablewayratherthangiveMrs.Cruppoffence;andshewastheterrorofmylife.

           Iboughtasecond-handdumb-waiterforthisdinner-party,inpreferencetore-engagingthehandyyoungman;againstwhomIhadconceivedaprejudice,inconsequenceofmeetinghimintheStrand,oneSundaymorning,inawaistcoatremarkablylikeoneofmine,whichhadbeenmissingsincetheformeroccasion.

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