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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 376/820
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What
with
the
novelty
of
this
cookery
,
the
excellence
of
it
,
the
bustle
of
it
,
the
frequent
starting
up
to
look
after
it
,
the
frequent
sitting
down
to
dispose
of
it
as
the
crisp
slices
came
off
the
gridiron
hot
and
hot
,
the
being
so
busy
,
so
flushed
with
the
fire
,
so
amused
,
and
in
the
midst
of
such
a
tempting
noise
and
savour
,
we
reduced
the
leg
of
mutton
to
the
bone
.
My
own
appetite
came
back
miraculously
.
I
am
ashamed
to
record
it
,
but
I
really
believe
I
forgot
Dora
for
a
little
while
.
I
am
satisfied
that
Mr
.
and
Mrs
.
Micawber
could
not
have
enjoyed
the
feast
more
,
if
they
had
sold
a
bed
to
provide
it
.
Traddles
laughed
as
heartily
,
almost
the
whole
time
,
as
he
ate
and
worked
.
Indeed
we
all
did
,
all
at
once
;
and
I
dare
say
there
was
never
a
greater
success
.
We
were
at
the
height
of
our
enjoyment
,
and
were
all
busily
engaged
,
in
our
several
departments
,
endeavouring
to
bring
the
last
batch
of
slices
to
a
state
of
perfection
that
should
crown
the
feast
,
when
I
was
aware
of
a
strange
presence
in
the
room
,
and
my
eyes
encountered
those
of
the
staid
Littimer
,
standing
hat
in
hand
before
me
.
‘
What
’
s
the
matter
?
’
I
involuntarily
asked
.
‘
I
beg
your
pardon
,
sir
,
I
was
directed
to
come
in
.
Is
my
master
not
here
,
sir
?
’
‘
No
.
’
‘
Have
you
not
seen
him
,
sir
?
’
‘
No
;
don
’
t
you
come
from
him
?
’
‘
Not
immediately
so
,
sir
.
’
‘
Did
he
tell
you
you
would
find
him
here
?
’
‘
Not
exactly
so
,
sir
.
But
I
should
think
he
might
be
here
tomorrow
,
as
he
has
not
been
here
today
.
’
‘
Is
he
coming
up
from
Oxford
?
’
