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- Авторы
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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 658/820
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‘
Lord
bless
you
,
sir
!
’
exclaimed
my
aunt
,
in
her
abrupt
way
.
‘
What
are
you
talking
about
?
’
‘
The
subsistence
of
my
family
,
ma
’
am
,
’
returned
Mr
.
Micawber
,
‘
trembles
in
the
balance
.
My
employer
—
—
’
Here
Mr
.
Micawber
provokingly
left
off
;
and
began
to
peel
the
lemons
that
had
been
under
my
directions
set
before
him
,
together
with
all
the
other
appliances
he
used
in
making
punch
.
‘
Your
employer
,
you
know
,
’
said
Mr
.
Dick
,
jogging
his
arm
as
a
gentle
reminder
.
‘
My
good
sir
,
’
returned
Mr
.
Micawber
,
‘
you
recall
me
,
I
am
obliged
to
you
.
’
They
shook
hands
again
.
‘
My
employer
,
ma
’
am
—
Mr
.
Heep
-
once
did
me
the
favour
to
observe
to
me
,
that
if
I
were
not
in
the
receipt
of
the
stipendiary
emoluments
appertaining
to
my
engagement
with
him
,
I
should
probably
be
a
mountebank
about
the
country
,
swallowing
a
sword
-
blade
,
and
eating
the
devouring
element
.
For
anything
that
I
can
perceive
to
the
contrary
,
it
is
still
probable
that
my
children
may
be
reduced
to
seek
a
livelihood
by
personal
contortion
,
while
Mrs
.
Micawber
abets
their
unnatural
feats
by
playing
the
barrel
-
organ
.
’
Mr
.
Micawber
,
with
a
random
but
expressive
flourish
of
his
knife
,
signified
that
these
performances
might
be
expected
to
take
place
after
he
was
no
more
;
then
resumed
his
peeling
with
a
desperate
air
.
My
aunt
leaned
her
elbow
on
the
little
round
table
that
she
usually
kept
beside
her
,
and
eyed
him
attentively
.
Notwithstanding
the
aversion
with
which
I
regarded
the
idea
of
entrapping
him
into
any
disclosure
he
was
not
prepared
to
make
voluntarily
,
I
should
have
taken
him
up
at
this
point
,
but
for
the
strange
proceedings
in
which
I
saw
him
engaged
;
whereof
his
putting
the
lemon
-
peel
into
the
kettle
,
the
sugar
into
the
snuffer
-
tray
,
the
spirit
into
the
empty
jug
,
and
confidently
attempting
to
pour
boiling
water
out
of
a
candlestick
,
were
among
the
most
remarkable
.
I
saw
that
a
crisis
was
at
hand
,
and
it
came
.
He
clattered
all
his
means
and
implements
together
,
rose
from
his
chair
,
pulled
out
his
pocket
-
handkerchief
,
and
burst
into
tears
.
‘
My
dear
Copperfield
,
’
said
Mr
.
Micawber
,
behind
his
handkerchief
,
‘
this
is
an
occupation
,
of
all
others
,
requiring
an
untroubled
mind
,
and
self
-
respect
.
I
cannot
perform
it
.
It
is
out
of
the
question
.
’
‘
Mr
.
Micawber
,
’
said
I
,
‘
what
is
the
matter
?
Pray
speak
out
.
You
are
among
friends
.
’
