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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 32/435
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"
"
You
can
say
what
you
like
,
"
returned
the
sergeant
,
standing
coolly
looking
at
him
with
his
arms
folded
,
"
but
you
have
no
call
to
say
it
here
.
You
’
ll
have
opportunity
enough
to
say
about
it
,
and
hear
about
it
,
before
it
’
s
done
with
,
you
know
.
"
"
I
know
,
but
this
is
another
pint
,
a
separate
matter
.
A
man
can
’
t
starve
;
at
least
I
can
’
t
.
I
took
some
wittles
,
up
at
the
willage
over
yonder
—
where
the
church
stands
a
’
most
out
on
the
marshes
.
"
"
You
mean
stole
,
"
said
the
sergeant
.
"
And
I
’
ll
tell
you
where
from
.
From
the
blacksmith
’
s
.
"
"
Halloa
!
"
said
the
sergeant
,
staring
at
Joe
.
"
Halloa
,
Pip
!
"
said
Joe
,
staring
at
me
.
"
It
was
some
broken
wittles
—
that
’
s
what
it
was
—
and
a
dram
of
liquor
,
and
a
pie
.
"
"
Have
you
happened
to
miss
such
an
article
as
a
pie
,
blacksmith
?
"
asked
the
sergeant
,
confidentially
.
"
My
wife
did
,
at
the
very
moment
when
you
came
in
.
Don
’
t
you
know
,
Pip
?
"
