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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 301/820
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‘
What
were
you
doing
for
Lady
Mithers
?
’
asked
Steerforth
.
‘
That
’
s
tellings
,
my
blessed
infant
,
’
she
retorted
,
tapping
her
nose
again
,
screwing
up
her
face
,
and
twinkling
her
eyes
like
an
imp
of
supernatural
intelligence
.
‘
Never
YOU
mind
!
You
’
d
like
to
know
whether
I
stop
her
hair
from
falling
off
,
or
dye
it
,
or
touch
up
her
complexion
,
or
improve
her
eyebrows
,
wouldn
’
t
you
?
And
so
you
shall
,
my
darling
—
when
I
tell
you
!
Do
you
know
what
my
great
grandfather
’
s
name
was
?
’
‘
No
,
’
said
Steerforth
.
‘
It
was
Walker
,
my
sweet
pet
,
’
replied
Miss
Mowcher
,
‘
and
he
came
of
a
long
line
of
Walkers
,
that
I
inherit
all
the
Hookey
estates
from
.
’
I
never
beheld
anything
approaching
to
Miss
Mowcher
’
s
wink
except
Miss
Mowcher
’
s
self
-
possession
.
She
had
a
wonderful
way
too
,
when
listening
to
what
was
said
to
her
,
or
when
waiting
for
an
answer
to
what
she
had
said
herself
,
of
pausing
with
her
head
cunningly
on
one
side
,
and
one
eye
turned
up
like
a
magpie
’
s
.
Altogether
I
was
lost
in
amazement
,
and
sat
staring
at
her
,
quite
oblivious
,
I
am
afraid
,
of
the
laws
of
politeness
.
She
had
by
this
time
drawn
the
chair
to
her
side
,
and
was
busily
engaged
in
producing
from
the
bag
(
plunging
in
her
short
arm
to
the
shoulder
,
at
every
dive
)
a
number
of
small
bottles
,
sponges
,
combs
,
brushes
,
bits
of
flannel
,
little
pairs
of
curling
-
irons
,
and
other
instruments
,
which
she
tumbled
in
a
heap
upon
the
chair
.
From
this
employment
she
suddenly
desisted
,
and
said
to
Steerforth
,
much
to
my
confusion
:
‘
Who
’
s
your
friend
?
’
‘
Mr
.
Copperfield
,
’
said
Steerforth
;
‘
he
wants
to
know
you
.
’
‘
Well
,
then
,
he
shall
!
I
thought
he
looked
as
if
he
did
!
’
returned
Miss
Mowcher
,
waddling
up
to
me
,
bag
in
hand
,
and
laughing
on
me
as
she
came
.
‘
Face
like
a
peach
!
’
standing
on
tiptoe
to
pinch
my
cheek
as
I
sat
.
‘
Quite
tempting
!
I
’
m
very
fond
of
peaches
.
Happy
to
make
your
acquaintance
,
Mr
.
Copperfield
,
I
’
m
sure
.
’
