Дэвид Копперфильд

Dora’s Aunts

           

           Doragavemeareproachfullooktheprettiestlook!andthenbegantosob,saying,ifIdidn’tlikeher,whyhadIeverwantedsomuchtobeengagedtoher?Andwhydidn’tIgoaway,now,ifIcouldn’tbearher?

           WhatcouldIdo,butkissawayhertears,andtellherhowIdotedonher,afterthat!

           ‘IamsureIamveryaffectionate,’saidDora;‘yououghtn’ttobecrueltome,Doady!’

           ‘Cruel,mypreciouslove!AsifIwouldorcouldbecrueltoyou,fortheworld!’

           ‘Thendon’tfindfaultwithme,’saidDora,makingarosebudofhermouth;‘andI’llbegood.’

           Iwascharmedbyherpresentlyaskingme,ofherownaccord,togiveherthatcookery-bookIhadoncespokenof,andtoshowherhowtokeepaccountsasIhadoncepromisedIwould.Ibroughtthevolumewithmeonmynextvisit(Igotitprettilybound,first,tomakeitlooklessdryandmoreinviting);andaswestrolledabouttheCommon,Ishowedheranoldhousekeeping-bookofmyaunt’s,andgaveherasetoftablets,andaprettylittlepencil-caseandboxofleads,topractisehousekeepingwith.

           Butthecookery-bookmadeDora’sheadache,andthefiguresmadehercry.Theywouldn’taddup,shesaid.Sosherubbedthemout,anddrewlittlenosegaysandlikenessesofmeandJip,alloverthetablets.

           ThenIplayfullytriedverbalinstructionindomesticmatters,aswewalkedaboutonaSaturdayafternoon.

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