-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Дэвид Копперфильд
-
- Стр. 75/820
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
With
these
words
he
threw
the
boots
towards
Mr
.
Mell
,
who
went
back
a
few
paces
to
pick
them
up
,
and
looked
at
them
(
very
disconsolately
,
I
was
afraid
)
,
as
we
went
on
together
.
I
observed
then
,
for
the
first
time
,
that
the
boots
he
had
on
were
a
good
deal
the
worse
for
wear
,
and
that
his
stocking
was
just
breaking
out
in
one
place
,
like
a
bud
.
Salem
House
was
a
square
brick
building
with
wings
;
of
a
bare
and
unfurnished
appearance
.
All
about
it
was
so
very
quiet
,
that
I
said
to
Mr
.
Mell
I
supposed
the
boys
were
out
;
but
he
seemed
surprised
at
my
not
knowing
that
it
was
holiday
-
time
.
That
all
the
boys
were
at
their
several
homes
.
That
Mr
.
Creakle
,
the
proprietor
,
was
down
by
the
sea
-
side
with
Mrs
.
and
Miss
Creakle
;
and
that
I
was
sent
in
holiday
-
time
as
a
punishment
for
my
misdoing
,
all
of
which
he
explained
to
me
as
we
went
along
.
I
gazed
upon
the
schoolroom
into
which
he
took
me
,
as
the
most
forlorn
and
desolate
place
I
had
ever
seen
.
I
see
it
now
.
A
long
room
with
three
long
rows
of
desks
,
and
six
of
forms
,
and
bristling
all
round
with
pegs
for
hats
and
slates
.
Scraps
of
old
copy
-
books
and
exercises
litter
the
dirty
floor
.
Some
silkworms
’
houses
,
made
of
the
same
materials
,
are
scattered
over
the
desks
.
Two
miserable
little
white
mice
,
left
behind
by
their
owner
,
are
running
up
and
down
in
a
fusty
castle
made
of
pasteboard
and
wire
,
looking
in
all
the
corners
with
their
red
eyes
for
anything
to
eat
.
A
bird
,
in
a
cage
very
little
bigger
than
himself
,
makes
a
mournful
rattle
now
and
then
in
hopping
on
his
perch
,
two
inches
high
,
or
dropping
from
it
;
but
neither
sings
nor
chirps
.
There
is
a
strange
unwholesome
smell
upon
the
room
,
like
mildewed
corduroys
,
sweet
apples
wanting
air
,
and
rotten
books
.
There
could
not
well
be
more
ink
splashed
about
it
,
if
it
had
been
roofless
from
its
first
construction
,
and
the
skies
had
rained
,
snowed
,
hailed
,
and
blown
ink
through
the
varying
seasons
of
the
year
.
Mr
.
Mell
having
left
me
while
he
took
his
irreparable
boots
upstairs
,
I
went
softly
to
the
upper
end
of
the
room
,
observing
all
this
as
I
crept
along
.
Suddenly
I
came
upon
a
pasteboard
placard
,
beautifully
written
,
which
was
lying
on
the
desk
,
and
bore
these
words
:
‘
TAKE
CARE
OF
HIM
.
HE
BITES
.
’
I
got
upon
the
desk
immediately
,
apprehensive
of
at
least
a
great
dog
underneath
.
But
,
though
I
looked
all
round
with
anxious
eyes
,
I
could
see
nothing
of
him
.
I
was
still
engaged
in
peering
about
,
when
Mr
.
Mell
came
back
,
and
asked
me
what
I
did
up
there
?
‘
I
beg
your
pardon
,
sir
,
’
says
I
,
‘
if
you
please
,
I
’
m
looking
for
the
dog
.
’
‘
Dog
?
’
he
says
.
‘
What
dog
?
’
‘
Isn
’
t
it
a
dog
,
sir
?
’
