-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Оливер Твист
-
- Стр. 279/420
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
woman
,
who
had
hesitated
at
first
,
walked
boldly
in
,
without
any
other
invitation
.
Mr.
Bumble
,
who
was
ashamed
or
afraid
to
lag
behind
,
followed
:
obviously
very
ill
at
ease
and
with
scarcely
any
of
that
remarkable
dignity
which
was
usually
his
chief
characteristic
.
'
What
the
devil
made
you
stand
lingering
there
,
in
the
wet
?
'
said
Monks
,
turning
round
,
and
addressing
Bumble
,
after
he
had
bolted
the
door
behind
them
.
'
We
--
we
were
only
cooling
ourselves
,
'
stammered
Bumble
,
looking
apprehensively
about
him
.
'
Cooling
yourselves
!
'
retorted
Monks
.
'
Not
all
the
rain
that
ever
fell
,
or
ever
will
fall
,
will
put
as
much
of
hell
's
fire
out
,
as
a
man
can
carry
about
with
him
.
You
wo
n't
cool
yourself
so
easily
;
do
n't
think
it
!
'
With
this
agreeable
speech
,
Monks
turned
short
upon
the
matron
,
and
bent
his
gaze
upon
her
,
till
even
she
,
who
was
not
easily
cowed
,
was
fain
to
withdraw
her
eyes
,
and
turn
them
them
towards
the
ground
.
'
This
is
the
woman
,
is
it
?
'
demanded
Monks
.
'
Hem
!
That
is
the
woman
,
'
replied
Mr.
Bumble
,
mindful
of
his
wife
's
caution
.
'
You
think
women
never
can
keep
secrets
,
I
suppose
?
'
said
the
matron
,
interposing
,
and
returning
,
as
she
spoke
,
the
searching
look
of
Monks
.
'
I
know
they
will
always
keep
ONE
till
it
's
found
out
,
'
said
Monks
.
'
And
what
may
that
be
?
'
asked
the
matron
.
