Дэвид Копперфильд

Mr. Micawber’s Gauntlet

           Copperfield,’saidMrs.Micawber,archly.‘Hecannotanswerforothers.’

           ‘Mydear,’returnedMr.Micawberwithsuddenseriousness,‘Ihavenodesiretoanswerforothers.Iamtoowellawarethatwhen,intheinscrutabledecreesofFate,youwerereservedforme,itispossibleyoumayhavebeenreservedforone,destined,afteraprotractedstruggle,atlengthtofallavictimtopecuniaryinvolvementsofacomplicatednature.Iunderstandyourallusion,mylove.Iregretit,butIcanbearit.’

           ‘Micawber!’exclaimedMrs.Micawber,intears.‘HaveIdeservedthis!I,whoneverhavedesertedyou;whoneverWILLdesertyou,Micawber!’‘Mylove,’saidMr.Micawber,muchaffected,‘youwillforgive,andouroldandtriedfriendCopperfieldwill,Iamsure,forgive,themomentarylacerationofawoundedspirit,madesensitivebyarecentcollisionwiththeMinionofPowerinotherwords,witharibaldTurncockattachedtothewater-worksandwillpity,notcondemn,itsexcesses.’

           Mr.MicawberthenembracedMrs.Micawber,andpressedmyhand;leavingmetoinferfromthisbrokenallusionthathisdomesticsupplyofwaterhadbeencutoffthatafternoon,inconsequenceofdefaultinthepaymentofthecompany’srates.

           Todiverthisthoughtsfromthismelancholysubject,IinformedMr.MicawberthatIrelieduponhimforabowlofpunch,andledhimtothelemons.Hisrecentdespondency,nottosaydespair,wasgoneinamoment.

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