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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 235/820
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I
felt
embarrassed
by
these
compliments
;
but
I
was
sensible
,
too
,
of
being
entertained
as
an
honoured
guest
,
and
I
thought
Mrs
.
Heep
an
agreeable
woman
.
‘
My
Uriah
,
’
said
Mrs
.
Heep
,
‘
has
looked
forward
to
this
,
sir
,
a
long
while
.
He
had
his
fears
that
our
umbleness
stood
in
the
way
,
and
I
joined
in
them
myself
.
Umble
we
are
,
umble
we
have
been
,
umble
we
shall
ever
be
,
’
said
Mrs
.
Heep
.
‘
I
am
sure
you
have
no
occasion
to
be
so
,
ma
’
am
,
’
I
said
,
‘
unless
you
like
.
’
‘
Thank
you
,
sir
,
’
retorted
Mrs
.
Heep
.
‘
We
know
our
station
and
are
thankful
in
it
.
’
I
found
that
Mrs
.
Heep
gradually
got
nearer
to
me
,
and
that
Uriah
gradually
got
opposite
to
me
,
and
that
they
respectfully
plied
me
with
the
choicest
of
the
eatables
on
the
table
.
There
was
nothing
particularly
choice
there
,
to
be
sure
;
but
I
took
the
will
for
the
deed
,
and
felt
that
they
were
very
attentive
.
Presently
they
began
to
talk
about
aunts
,
and
then
I
told
them
about
mine
;
and
about
fathers
and
mothers
,
and
then
I
told
them
about
mine
;
and
then
Mrs
.
Heep
began
to
talk
about
fathers
-
in
-
law
,
and
then
I
began
to
tell
her
about
mine
—
but
stopped
,
because
my
aunt
had
advised
me
to
observe
a
silence
on
that
subject
.
A
tender
young
cork
,
however
,
would
have
had
no
more
chance
against
a
pair
of
corkscrews
,
or
a
tender
young
tooth
against
a
pair
of
dentists
,
or
a
little
shuttlecock
against
two
battledores
,
than
I
had
against
Uriah
and
Mrs
.
Heep
.
They
did
just
what
they
liked
with
me
;
and
wormed
things
out
of
me
that
I
had
no
desire
to
tell
,
with
a
certainty
I
blush
to
think
of
.
the
more
especially
,
as
in
my
juvenile
frankness
,
I
took
some
credit
to
myself
for
being
so
confidential
and
felt
that
I
was
quite
the
patron
of
my
two
respectful
entertainers
.
They
were
very
fond
of
one
another
:
that
was
certain
.
I
take
it
,
that
had
its
effect
upon
me
,
as
a
touch
of
nature
;
but
the
skill
with
which
the
one
followed
up
whatever
the
other
said
,
was
a
touch
of
art
which
I
was
still
less
proof
against
.
When
there
was
nothing
more
to
be
got
out
of
me
about
myself
(
for
on
the
Murdstone
and
Grinby
life
,
and
on
my
journey
,
I
was
dumb
)
,
they
began
about
Mr
.
Wickfield
and
Agnes
.
Uriah
threw
the
ball
to
Mrs
.
Heep
,
Mrs
.
Heep
caught
it
and
threw
it
back
to
Uriah
,
Uriah
kept
it
up
a
little
while
,
then
sent
it
back
to
Mrs
.
Heep
,
and
so
they
went
on
tossing
it
about
until
I
had
no
idea
who
had
got
it
,
and
was
quite
bewildered
.
The
ball
itself
was
always
changing
too
.
Now
it
was
Mr
.
Wickfield
,
now
Agnes
,
now
the
excellence
of
Mr
.
Wickfield
,
now
my
admiration
of
Agnes
;
now
the
extent
of
Mr
.
Wickfield
’
s
business
and
resources
,
now
our
domestic
life
after
dinner
;
now
,
the
wine
that
Mr
.
Wickfield
took
,
the
reason
why
he
took
it
,
and
the
pity
that
it
was
he
took
so
much
;
now
one
thing
,
now
another
,
then
everything
at
once
;
and
all
the
time
,
without
appearing
to
speak
very
often
,
or
to
do
anything
but
sometimes
encourage
them
a
little
,
for
fear
they
should
be
overcome
by
their
humility
and
the
honour
of
my
company
,
I
found
myself
perpetually
letting
out
something
or
other
that
I
had
no
business
to
let
out
and
seeing
the
effect
of
it
in
the
twinkling
of
Uriah
’
s
dinted
nostrils
.
I
had
begun
to
be
a
little
uncomfortable
,
and
to
wish
myself
well
out
of
the
visit
,
when
a
figure
coming
down
the
street
passed
the
door
—
it
stood
open
to
air
the
room
,
which
was
warm
,
the
weather
being
close
for
the
time
of
year
—
came
back
again
,
looked
in
,
and
walked
in
,
exclaiming
loudly
,
‘
Copperfield
!
Is
it
possible
?
’
It
was
Mr
.
Micawber
!
It
was
Mr
.
Micawber
,
with
his
eye
-
glass
,
and
his
walking
-
stick
,
and
his
shirt
-
collar
,
and
his
genteel
air
,
and
the
condescending
roll
in
his
voice
,
all
complete
!
‘
My
dear
Copperfield
,
’
said
Mr
.
Micawber
,
putting
out
his
hand
,
‘
this
is
indeed
a
meeting
which
is
calculated
to
impress
the
mind
with
a
sense
of
the
instability
and
uncertainty
of
all
human
—
in
short
,
it
is
a
most
extraordinary
meeting
.
Walking
along
the
street
,
reflecting
upon
the
probability
of
something
turning
up
(
of
which
I
am
at
present
rather
sanguine
)
,
I
find
a
young
but
valued
friend
turn
up
,
who
is
connected
with
the
most
eventful
period
of
my
life
;
I
may
say
,
with
the
turning
-
point
of
my
existence
.
Copperfield
,
my
dear
fellow
,
how
do
you
do
?
’
