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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 146/820
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I
did
not
know
what
to
reply
,
and
glanced
dubiously
at
Mr
.
Murdstone
.
‘
He
is
at
home
at
present
,
’
said
the
latter
.
‘
He
is
not
being
educated
anywhere
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
to
do
with
him
.
He
is
a
difficult
subject
.
’
That
old
,
double
look
was
on
me
for
a
moment
;
and
then
his
eyes
darkened
with
a
frown
,
as
it
turned
,
in
its
aversion
,
elsewhere
.
‘
Humph
!
’
said
Mr
.
Quinion
,
looking
at
us
both
,
I
thought
.
‘
Fine
weather
!
’
Silence
ensued
,
and
I
was
considering
how
I
could
best
disengage
my
shoulder
from
his
hand
,
and
go
away
,
when
he
said
:
‘
I
suppose
you
are
a
pretty
sharp
fellow
still
?
Eh
,
Brooks
?
’
‘
Aye
!
He
is
sharp
enough
,
’
said
Mr
.
Murdstone
,
impatiently
.
‘
You
had
better
let
him
go
.
He
will
not
thank
you
for
troubling
him
.
’
On
this
hint
,
Mr
.
Quinion
released
me
,
and
I
made
the
best
of
my
way
home
.
Looking
back
as
I
turned
into
the
front
garden
,
I
saw
Mr
.
Murdstone
leaning
against
the
wicket
of
the
churchyard
,
and
Mr
.
Quinion
talking
to
him
.
They
were
both
looking
after
me
,
and
I
felt
that
they
were
speaking
of
me
.
Mr
.
Quinion
lay
at
our
house
that
night
.
After
breakfast
,
the
next
morning
,
I
had
put
my
chair
away
,
and
was
going
out
of
the
room
,
when
Mr
.
Murdstone
called
me
back
.
He
then
gravely
repaired
to
another
table
,
where
his
sister
sat
herself
at
her
desk
.
Mr
.
Quinion
,
with
his
hands
in
his
pockets
,
stood
looking
out
of
window
;
and
I
stood
looking
at
them
all
.
‘
David
,
’
said
Mr
.
Murdstone
,
‘
to
the
young
this
is
a
world
for
action
;
not
for
moping
and
droning
in
.
’
