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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 304/820
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‘
Well
then
,
’
cried
Miss
Mowcher
,
’
I
’
ll
consent
to
live
.
Now
,
ducky
,
ducky
,
ducky
,
come
to
Mrs
.
Bond
and
be
killed
.
’
This
was
an
invocation
to
Steerforth
to
place
himself
under
her
hands
;
who
,
accordingly
,
sat
himself
down
,
with
his
back
to
the
table
,
and
his
laughing
face
towards
me
,
and
submitted
his
head
to
her
inspection
,
evidently
for
no
other
purpose
than
our
entertainment
.
To
see
Miss
Mowcher
standing
over
him
,
looking
at
his
rich
profusion
of
brown
hair
through
a
large
round
magnifying
glass
,
which
she
took
out
of
her
pocket
,
was
a
most
amazing
spectacle
.
‘
You
’
re
a
pretty
fellow
!
’
said
Miss
Mowcher
,
after
a
brief
inspection
.
‘
You
’
d
be
as
bald
as
a
friar
on
the
top
of
your
head
in
twelve
months
,
but
for
me
.
just
half
a
minute
,
my
young
friend
,
and
we
’
ll
give
you
a
polishing
that
shall
keep
your
curls
on
for
the
next
ten
years
!
’
With
this
,
she
tilted
some
of
the
contents
of
the
little
bottle
on
to
one
of
the
little
bits
of
flannel
,
and
,
again
imparting
some
of
the
virtues
of
that
preparation
to
one
of
the
little
brushes
,
began
rubbing
and
scraping
away
with
both
on
the
crown
of
Steerforth
’
s
head
in
the
busiest
manner
I
ever
witnessed
,
talking
all
the
time
.
‘
There
’
s
Charley
Pyegrave
,
the
duke
’
s
son
,
’
she
said
.
‘
You
know
Charley
?
’
peeping
round
into
his
face
.
‘
A
little
,
’
said
Steerforth
.
‘
What
a
man
HE
is
!
THERE
’
S
a
whisker
!
As
to
Charley
’
s
legs
,
if
they
were
only
a
pair
(
which
they
ain
’
t
)
,
they
’
d
defy
competition
.
Would
you
believe
he
tried
to
do
without
me
—
in
the
Life
-
Guards
,
too
?
’
‘
Mad
!
’
said
Steerforth
.
