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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 282/820
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He
received
me
with
absolute
enthusiasm
.
He
was
too
rheumatic
to
be
shaken
hands
with
,
but
he
begged
me
to
shake
the
tassel
on
the
top
of
his
nightcap
,
which
I
did
most
cordially
.
When
I
sat
down
by
the
side
of
the
bed
,
he
said
that
it
did
him
a
world
of
good
to
feel
as
if
he
was
driving
me
on
the
Blunderstone
road
again
.
As
he
lay
in
bed
,
face
upward
,
and
so
covered
,
with
that
exception
,
that
he
seemed
to
be
nothing
but
a
face
—
like
a
conventional
cherubim
-
he
looked
the
queerest
object
I
ever
beheld
.
‘
What
name
was
it
,
as
I
wrote
up
in
the
cart
,
sir
?
’
said
Mr
.
Barkis
,
with
a
slow
rheumatic
smile
.
‘
Ah
!
Mr
.
Barkis
,
we
had
some
grave
talks
about
that
matter
,
hadn
’
t
we
?
’
‘
I
was
willin
’
a
long
time
,
sir
?
’
said
Mr
.
Barkis
.
‘
A
long
time
,
’
said
I
.
‘
And
I
don
’
t
regret
it
,
’
said
Mr
.
Barkis
.
‘
Do
you
remember
what
you
told
me
once
,
about
her
making
all
the
apple
parsties
and
doing
all
the
cooking
?
’
‘
Yes
,
very
well
,
’
I
returned
.
‘
It
was
as
true
,
’
said
Mr
.
Barkis
,
‘
as
turnips
is
.
It
was
as
true
,
’
said
Mr
.
Barkis
,
nodding
his
nightcap
,
which
was
his
only
means
of
emphasis
,
‘
as
taxes
is
.
And
nothing
’
s
truer
than
them
.
’
Mr
.
Barkis
turned
his
eyes
upon
me
,
as
if
for
my
assent
to
this
result
of
his
reflections
in
bed
;
and
I
gave
it
.
