Дэвид Копперфильд

Mischief

           

           ‘MydearStrong,’saidMr.Wickfieldinatremulousvoice,‘mygoodfriend,Ineedn’ttellyouthatithasbeenmyvicetolookforsomeonemastermotiveineverybody,andtotryallactionsbyonenarrowtest.ImayhavefallenintosuchdoubtsasIhavehad,throughthismistake.’

           ‘Youhavehaddoubts,Wickfield,’saidtheDoctor,withoutliftinguphishead.‘Youhavehaddoubts.’

           ‘Speakup,fellow-partner,’urgedUriah.

           ‘Ihad,atonetime,certainly,’saidMr.Wickfield.‘IGodforgivemeIthoughtYOUhad.’

           ‘No,no,no!’returnedtheDoctor,inatoneofmostpatheticgrief.‘Ithought,atonetime,’saidMr.Wickfield,‘thatyouwishedtosendMaldonabroadtoeffectadesirableseparation.’

           ‘No,no,no!’returnedtheDoctor.‘TogiveAnniepleasure,bymakingsomeprovisionforthecompanionofherchildhood.Nothingelse.’

           ‘SoIfound,’saidMr.Wickfield.‘Icouldn’tdoubtit,whenyoutoldmeso.ButIthoughtIimploreyoutorememberthenarrowconstructionwhichhasbeenmybesettingsinthat,inacasewheretherewassomuchdisparityinpointofyears

           ‘That’sthewaytoputit,yousee,MasterCopperfield!’observedUriah,withfawningandoffensivepity.

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