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    common nature is the least disposed to confess I cannot imagine

    droning in It is especially so for a young boy of your disposition,

    a departed voice to me My reflections at these times were always

    flourishing above his head, Traddles, as Mr Pitt, Mr Fox, Mr

    David Copperfield

    open, and Rosa Dartle was walking, bareheaded, with a quick,

    David Copperfield

    moneyed interest

    to the King’s Bench, except mine, for which a little room was hired

    Trotwood, how you do remind me of her!’

    sure, for her—by her falling on my neck, for a moment, and crying

    will do me such a service as I cannot express’

    underneath the door in the night She tried to hide her writing,

    turned again towards him, after glancing at me as I left the room

    out the nearest proper authorities, and offered myself to go for a

    divinest of her sex’

    flowing water, now a dry channel overgrown with leaves, whether

    aunts called upon her, in due state and form Similar but more

    hour of his life should have strengthened into ties that nothing

    All this I observed, sitting at the table in the corner with my

    wastefulness and profligacy, and so forth, in connexion with that

    Steerforth’s, and looked over the corner of the garden wall His

    said Traddles ‘I should think not, though, because he told me,

    ‘The Russian Prince is a client of yours, is he?’ said Steerforth

    waistcoats—not for myself; I had no pride in them; for Dora—and

    Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

    Davy, on the brightest night of your uncle’s life as ever was or will


    Copyright common nature is the least disposed to confess I cannot imagine