Дэвид Копперфильд

I Visit Steerforth at His Home, Again

           Steerforthwaspleasedtoseeme,andsowasRosaDartle.IwasagreeablysurprisedtofindthatLittimerwasnotthere,andthatwewereattendedbyamodestlittleparlour-maid,withblueribbonsinhercap,whoseeyeitwasmuchmorepleasant,andmuchlessdisconcerting,tocatchbyaccident,thantheeyeofthatrespectableman.ButwhatIparticularlyobserved,beforeIhadbeenhalf-an-hourinthehouse,wasthecloseandattentivewatchMissDartlekeptuponme;andthelurkingmannerinwhichsheseemedtocomparemyfacewithSteerforth’s,andSteerforth’swithmine,andtolieinwaitforsomethingtocomeoutbetweenthetwo.SosurelyasIlookedtowardsher,didIseethateagervisage,withitsgauntblackeyesandsearchingbrow,intentonmine;orpassingsuddenlyfromminetoSteerforth’s;orcomprehendingbothofusatonce.Inthislynx-likescrutinyshewassofarfromfalteringwhenshesawIobservedit,thatatsuchatimesheonlyfixedherpiercinglookuponmewithamoreintentexpressionstill.BlamelessasIwas,andknewthatIwas,inreferencetoanywrongshecouldpossiblysuspectmeof,Ishrunkbeforeherstrangeeyes,quiteunabletoenduretheirhungrylustre.

           Allday,sheseemedtopervadethewholehouse.IfItalkedtoSteerforthinhisroom,Iheardherdressrustleinthelittlegalleryoutside.WhenheandIengagedinsomeofouroldexercisesonthelawnbehindthehouse,Isawherfacepassfromwindowtowindow,likeawanderinglight,untilitfixeditselfinone,andwatchedus.

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