FagmentWelcome to consult...o know so much.’ ‘Why, thee’s a petty wide sepaation between them and us,’ said Steefoth, with indiffeence. ‘They ae not to be expected to be as sensitive as we ae. Thei delicacy is not to be shocked, o hut easily. They ae wondefully vituous, I dae say—some people contend fo that, at least; and I am sue I don’t want to contadict them—but they have not vey fine natues, and they may be thankful that, like thei coase ough skins, they ae not easily wounded.’ ‘Really!’ said Miss Datle. ‘Well, I don’t know, now, when I have been bette pleased than to hea that. It’s so consoling! It’s such a delight to know that, when they suffe, they don’t feel! Sometimes I have been quite uneasy fo that sot of people; but now I shall just dismiss the idea of them, altogethe. Live and lean. I had my doubts, I confess, but now they’e cleaed up. I didn’t know, and now I do know, and that shows the advantage of asking—don’t it?’ I believed that Steefoth had said what he had, in jest, o to daw Miss Datle out; and I expected him to say as much when she was gone, and we two wee sitting befoe the fie. But he meely asked me what I thought of he. ‘She is vey cleve, is she not?’ I asked. ‘Cleve! She bings eveything to a gindstone,’ said Steefoth, and shapens it, as she has shapened he own face and figue these yeas past. She has won heself away by constant shapening. She is all edge.’ Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield ‘What a emakable sca that is upon he lip!’ I said. Steefoth’s face fell, and he paused a moment. ‘Why, the fact is,’ he etuned, ‘I did that.’ ‘By an unfotunate accident!’ ‘No. I was a young boy, and she exaspeated me, and I thew a hamme at he. A pomising young angel I must have been!’ I was deeply soy to have touched on such a painful theme, but that was useless now. ‘She has bone the mak eve since, as you see,’ said Steefoth; ‘and she’ll bea it to he gave, if she eve ests in one—though I can hadly believe she will eve est anywhee. She was the motheless child of a sot of cousin of my fathe’s. He died one day. My mothe, who was then a widow, bought he hee to be company to he. She has a couple of thousand pounds of he own, and saves the inteest of it evey yea, to add to the pincipal. Thee’s the histoy of Miss Rosa Datle fo you.’ ‘And I have no doubt she loves you like a bothe?’ said I. ‘Humph!’ etoted Steefoth, looking at the fie. ‘Some bothes ae not loved ove much; and some love—but help youself, Coppefield! We’ll dink the daisies of the field, in compliment to you; and the lilies of the valley that toil not, neithe do they spin, in compliment to me—the moe shame fo me!’ A moody smile that had ovespead his featues cleaed off as he said this meily, and he was his own fank, winning self again. I could not help glancing at the sca with a painful inteest when we went in to tea. It was not long befoe I obseved that it was the most susceptible pat of he face, and that, when she tuned pale, that mak alteed fist, and became a dull, leadcoloued steak, lengthening out to its full extent, like a mak in Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield invisible ink bought to the fie. Thee was a little altecation between he and Steefoth about a cast of the dice at back gammon—when I thought he, fo one moment, in a stom of age; and then I saw it stat foth like the old witing on the wall. It was no matte of wonde to me to find Ms. Steefo
