Дэвид Копперфильд

I Visit Steerforth at His Home, Again

           

           ‘Iwishyouwould,’saidMrs.Steerforth,withasmile.

           ‘Oh!Ireallywill,youknow!’sheanswered.‘IwilllearnfranknessfromletmeseefromJames.’

           ‘Youcannotlearnfrankness,Rosa,’saidMrs.SteerforthquicklyfortherewasalwayssomeeffectofsarcasminwhatRosaDartlesaid,thoughitwassaid,asthiswas,inthemostunconsciousmannerintheworld‘inabetterschool.’

           ‘ThatIamsureof,’sheanswered,withuncommonfervour.‘IfIamsureofanything,ofcourse,youknow,Iamsureofthat.’

           Mrs.Steerforthappearedtometoregrethavingbeenalittlenettled;forshepresentlysaid,inakindtone:

           ‘Well,mydearRosa,wehavenotheardwhatitisthatyouwanttobesatisfiedabout?’

           ‘ThatIwanttobesatisfiedabout?’shereplied,withprovokingcoldness.‘Oh!Itwasonlywhetherpeople,whoarelikeeachotherintheirmoralconstitutionisthatthephrase?’

           ‘It’sasgoodaphraseasanother,’saidSteerforth.

           ‘Thankyou:whetherpeople,whoarelikeeachotherintheirmoralconstitution,areingreaterdangerthanpeoplenotsocircumstanced,supposinganyseriouscauseofvariancetoarisebetweenthem,ofbeingdividedangrilyanddeeply?’

           ‘Ishouldsayyes,’saidSteerforth.

           ‘Shouldyou?’sheretorted.

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