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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 222/859
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The
mulberry
man
replied
in
the
affirmative
.
‘
How
was
it
you
worn
’
t
one
of
us
,
last
night
?
’
inquired
Sam
,
scrubbing
his
face
with
the
towel
.
‘
You
seem
one
of
the
jolly
sort
—
looks
as
conwivial
as
a
live
trout
in
a
lime
basket
,
’
added
Mr
.
Weller
,
in
an
undertone
.
‘
I
was
out
last
night
with
my
master
,
’
replied
the
stranger
.
‘
What
’
s
his
name
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Weller
,
colouring
up
very
red
with
sudden
excitement
,
and
the
friction
of
the
towel
combined
.
‘
Fitz
–
Marshall
,
’
said
the
mulberry
man
.
‘
Give
us
your
hand
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
advancing
;
‘
I
should
like
to
know
you
.
I
like
your
appearance
,
old
fellow
.
’
‘
Well
,
that
is
very
strange
,
’
said
the
mulberry
man
,
with
great
simplicity
of
manner
.
‘
I
like
yours
so
much
,
that
I
wanted
to
speak
to
you
,
from
the
very
first
moment
I
saw
you
under
the
pump
.
’
‘
Did
you
though
?
’
‘
Upon
my
word
.
Now
,
isn
’
t
that
curious
?
’
‘
Wery
sing
’
ler
,
’
said
Sam
,
inwardly
congratulating
himself
upon
the
softness
of
the
stranger
.
‘
What
’
s
your
name
,
my
patriarch
?
’
‘
Job
.
’
