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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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‘
So
,
Mr
.
Wickfield
,
’
said
I
,
at
last
,
‘
who
is
worth
five
hundred
of
you
—
or
me
’
;
for
my
life
,
I
think
,
I
could
not
have
helped
dividing
that
part
of
the
sentence
with
an
awkward
jerk
;
‘
has
been
imprudent
,
has
he
,
Mr
.
Heep
?
’
‘
Oh
,
very
imprudent
indeed
,
Master
Copperfield
,
’
returned
Uriah
,
sighing
modestly
.
‘
Oh
,
very
much
so
!
But
I
wish
you
’
d
call
me
Uriah
,
if
you
please
.
It
’
s
like
old
times
.
’
‘
Well
!
Uriah
,
’
said
I
,
bolting
it
out
with
some
difficulty
.
‘
Thank
you
,
’
he
returned
,
with
fervour
.
‘
Thank
you
,
Master
Copperfield
!
It
’
s
like
the
blowing
of
old
breezes
or
the
ringing
of
old
bellses
to
hear
YOU
say
Uriah
.
I
beg
your
pardon
.
Was
I
making
any
observation
?
’
‘
About
Mr
.
Wickfield
,
’
I
suggested
.
‘
Oh
!
Yes
,
truly
,
’
said
Uriah
.
‘
Ah
!
Great
imprudence
,
Master
Copperfield
.
It
’
s
a
topic
that
I
wouldn
’
t
touch
upon
,
to
any
soul
but
you
.
Even
to
you
I
can
only
touch
upon
it
,
and
no
more
.
If
anyone
else
had
been
in
my
place
during
the
last
few
years
,
by
this
time
he
would
have
had
Mr
.
Wickfield
(
oh
,
what
a
worthy
man
he
is
,
Master
Copperfield
,
too
!
)
under
his
thumb
.
Un
—
der
—
his
thumb
,
’
said
Uriah
,
very
slowly
,
as
he
stretched
out
his
cruel
-
looking
hand
above
my
table
,
and
pressed
his
own
thumb
upon
it
,
until
it
shook
,
and
shook
the
room
.
If
I
had
been
obliged
to
look
at
him
with
him
splay
foot
on
Mr
.
Wickfield
’
s
head
,
I
think
I
could
scarcely
have
hated
him
more
.
‘
Oh
,
dear
,
yes
,
Master
Copperfield
,
’
he
proceeded
,
in
a
soft
voice
,
most
remarkably
contrasting
with
the
action
of
his
thumb
,
which
did
not
diminish
its
hard
pressure
in
the
least
degree
,
‘
there
’
s
no
doubt
of
it
.
There
would
have
been
loss
,
disgrace
,
I
don
’
t
know
what
at
all
.
Mr
.
Wickfield
knows
it
.
I
am
the
umble
instrument
of
umbly
serving
him
,
and
he
puts
me
on
an
eminence
I
hardly
could
have
hoped
to
reach
.
How
thankful
should
I
be
!
’
With
his
face
turned
towards
me
,
as
he
finished
,
but
without
looking
at
me
,
he
took
his
crooked
thumb
off
the
spot
where
he
had
planted
it
,
and
slowly
and
thoughtfully
scraped
his
lank
jaw
with
it
,
as
if
he
were
shaving
himself
.
I
recollect
well
how
indignantly
my
heart
beat
,
as
I
saw
his
crafty
face
,
with
the
appropriately
red
light
of
the
fire
upon
it
,
preparing
for
something
else
.
