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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 706/820
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‘
But
he
means
well
,
’
said
Mrs
.
Micawber
,
tenderly
.
‘
I
dare
say
,
my
love
,
’
rejoined
Mr
.
Micawber
,
‘
that
he
means
particularly
well
;
but
I
have
not
yet
found
that
he
carries
out
his
meaning
,
in
any
given
direction
whatsoever
.
’
Master
Micawber
’
s
moroseness
of
aspect
returned
upon
him
again
,
and
he
demanded
,
with
some
temper
,
what
he
was
to
do
?
Whether
he
had
been
born
a
carpenter
,
or
a
coach
-
painter
,
any
more
than
he
had
been
born
a
bird
?
Whether
he
could
go
into
the
next
street
,
and
open
a
chemist
’
s
shop
?
Whether
he
could
rush
to
the
next
assizes
,
and
proclaim
himself
a
lawyer
?
Whether
he
could
come
out
by
force
at
the
opera
,
and
succeed
by
violence
?
Whether
he
could
do
anything
,
without
being
brought
up
to
something
?
My
aunt
mused
a
little
while
,
and
then
said
:
‘
Mr
.
Micawber
,
I
wonder
you
have
never
turned
your
thoughts
to
emigration
.
’
‘
Madam
,
’
returned
Mr
.
Micawber
,
‘
it
was
the
dream
of
my
youth
,
and
the
fallacious
aspiration
of
my
riper
years
.
’
I
am
thoroughly
persuaded
,
by
the
by
,
that
he
had
never
thought
of
it
in
his
life
.
‘
Aye
?
’
said
my
aunt
,
with
a
glance
at
me
.
‘
Why
,
what
a
thing
it
would
be
for
yourselves
and
your
family
,
Mr
.
and
Mrs
.
Micawber
,
if
you
were
to
emigrate
now
.
’
‘
Capital
,
madam
,
capital
,
’
urged
Mr
.
Micawber
,
gloomily
.
‘
That
is
the
principal
,
I
may
say
the
only
difficulty
,
my
dear
Mr
.
Copperfield
,
’
assented
his
wife
.
