Дэвид Копперфильд

Depression

           

           Hejerkedhimselfabout,afterthiscompliment,insuchanintolerablemanner,thatmyaunt,whohadsatlookingstraightathim,lostallpatience.

           ‘Deucetaketheman!’saidmyaunt,sternly,‘what’sheabout?Don’tbegalvanic,sir!’

           ‘Iaskyourpardon,MissTrotwood,’returnedUriah;‘I’mawareyou’renervous.’

           ‘Goalongwithyou,sir!’saidmyaunt,anythingbutappeased.‘Don’tpresumetosayso!Iamnothingofthesort.Ifyou’reaneel,sir,conductyourselflikeone.Ifyou’reaman,controlyourlimbs,sir!GoodGod!’saidmyaunt,withgreatindignation,‘Iamnotgoingtobeserpentinedandcorkscrewedoutofmysenses!’

           Mr.Heepwasratherabashed,asmostpeoplemighthavebeen,bythisexplosion;whichderivedgreatadditionalforcefromtheindignantmannerinwhichmyauntafterwardsmovedinherchair,andshookherheadasifsheweremakingsnapsorbouncesathim.Buthesaidtomeasideinameekvoice:

           ‘Iamwellaware,MasterCopperfield,thatMissTrotwood,thoughanexcellentlady,hasaquicktemper(indeedIthinkIhadthepleasureofknowingher,whenIwasanumbleclerk,beforeyoudid,MasterCopperfield),andit’sonlynatural,Iamsure,thatitshouldbemadequickerbypresentcircumstances.

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