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- Чарльз Диккенс
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‘
I
have
had
a
short
nap
,
’
said
Double
.
‘
Half
-
past
two
o
’
clock
in
the
morning
,
’
muttered
Jeremiah
.
‘
Where
’
s
your
hat
?
Where
’
s
your
coat
?
Where
’
s
the
box
?
’
‘
All
here
,
’
said
Double
,
tying
up
his
throat
with
sleepy
carefulness
in
a
shawl
.
‘
Stop
a
minute
.
Now
give
me
the
sleeve
—
not
that
sleeve
,
the
other
one
.
Ha
!
I
’
m
not
as
young
as
I
was
.
’
Mr
Flintwinch
had
pulled
him
into
his
coat
with
vehement
energy
.
‘
You
promised
me
a
second
glass
after
I
was
rested
.
’
‘
Drink
it
!
’
returned
Jeremiah
,
‘
and
—
choke
yourself
,
I
was
going
to
say
—
but
go
,
I
mean
.
’
At
the
same
time
he
produced
the
identical
port
-
wine
bottle
,
and
filled
a
wine
-
glass
.
‘
Her
port
-
wine
,
I
believe
?
’
said
Double
,
tasting
it
as
if
he
were
in
the
Docks
,
with
hours
to
spare
.
‘
Her
health
.
’
He
took
a
sip
.
‘
Your
health
!
’
He
took
another
sip
.
‘
His
health
!
’
