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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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Strip
the
bishop
of
his
apron
,
or
the
beadle
of
his
hat
and
lace
;
what
are
they
?
Men
.
Mere
men
.
Dignity
,
and
even
holiness
too
,
sometimes
,
are
more
questions
of
coat
and
waistcoat
than
some
people
imagine
.
Mr.
Bumle
had
married
Mrs.
Corney
,
and
was
master
of
the
workhouse
.
Another
beadle
had
come
into
power
.
On
him
the
cocked
hat
,
gold-laced
coat
,
and
staff
,
had
all
three
descended
.
'
And
to-morrow
two
months
it
was
done
!
'
said
Mr.
Bumble
,
with
a
sigh
.
'
It
seems
a
age
.
'
Mr.
Bumble
might
have
meant
that
he
had
concentrated
a
whole
existence
of
happiness
into
the
short
space
of
eight
weeks
;
but
the
sigh
--
there
was
a
vast
deal
of
meaning
in
the
sigh
.
'
I
sold
myself
,
'
said
Mr.
Bumble
,
pursuing
the
same
train
of
relection
,
'
for
six
teaspoons
,
a
pair
of
sugar-tongs
,
and
a
milk-pot
;
with
a
small
quantity
of
second-hand
furniture
,
and
twenty
pound
in
money
.
I
went
very
reasonable
.
Cheap
,
dirt
cheap
!
'
'
Cheap
!
'
cried
a
shrill
voice
in
Mr.
Bumble
's
ear
:
'
you
would
have
been
dear
at
any
price
;
and
dear
enough
I
paid
for
you
,
Lord
above
knows
that
!
'
Mr.
Bumble
turned
,
and
encountered
the
face
of
his
interesting
consort
,
who
,
imperfectly
comprehending
the
few
words
she
had
overheard
of
his
complaint
,
had
hazarded
the
foregoing
remark
at
a
venture
.
'
Mrs.
Bumble
,
ma'am
!
'
said
Mr.
Bumble
,
with
a
sentimental
sternness
.
'
Well
!
'
cried
the
lady
.
'
Have
the
goodness
to
look
at
me
,
'
said
Mr.
Bumble
,
fixing
his
eyes
upon
her
.
(
If
she
stands
such
a
eye
as
that
,
'
said
Mr.
Bumble
to
himself
,
'
she
can
stand
anything
.
