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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 177/435
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"
Ah
!
"
said
Mr
.
Jaggers
;
"
how
much
?
"
"
I
suppose
you
make
it
twenty
pounds
,
"
said
I
,
smiling
.
"
Never
mind
what
I
make
it
,
my
friend
,
"
observed
Mr
.
Jaggers
,
with
a
knowing
and
contradictory
toss
of
his
head
.
"
I
want
to
know
what
you
make
it
.
"
"
Twenty
pounds
,
of
course
.
"
"
Wemmick
!
"
said
Mr
.
Jaggers
,
opening
his
office
door
.
"
Take
Mr
.
Pip
’
s
written
order
,
and
pay
him
twenty
pounds
.
"
This
strongly
marked
way
of
doing
business
made
a
strongly
marked
impression
on
me
,
and
that
not
of
an
agreeable
kind
.
Mr
.
Jaggers
never
laughed
;
but
he
wore
great
bright
creaking
boots
,
and
,
in
poising
himself
on
these
boots
,
with
his
large
head
bent
down
and
his
eyebrows
joined
together
,
awaiting
an
answer
,
he
sometimes
caused
the
boots
to
creak
,
as
if
they
laughed
in
a
dry
and
suspicious
way
.
As
he
happened
to
go
out
now
,
and
as
Wemmick
was
brisk
and
talkative
,
I
said
to
Wemmick
that
I
hardly
knew
what
to
make
of
Mr
.
Jaggers
’
s
manner
.
"
Tell
him
that
,
and
he
’
ll
take
it
as
a
compliment
,
"
answered
Wemmick
;
"
he
don
’
t
mean
that
you
should
know
what
to
make
of
it
.
—
Oh
!
"
for
I
looked
surprised
,
"
it
’
s
not
personal
;
it
’
s
professional
:
only
professional
.
"
Wemmick
was
at
his
desk
,
lunching
—
and
crunching
—
on
a
dry
hard
biscuit
;
pieces
of
which
he
threw
from
time
to
time
into
his
slit
of
a
mouth
,
as
if
he
were
posting
them
.
"
Always
seems
to
me
,
"
said
Wemmick
,
"
as
if
he
had
set
a
man
-
trap
and
was
watching
it
.
Suddenly
-
click
—
you
’
re
caught
!
"
