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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 231/859
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Mr
.
Trotter
made
another
bow
,
and
turned
to
depart
,
when
Mr
.
Pickwick
thrust
a
guinea
into
his
hand
.
‘
You
’
re
a
fine
fellow
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
‘
and
I
admire
your
goodness
of
heart
.
No
thanks
.
Remember
—
eleven
o
’
clock
.
’
‘
There
is
no
fear
of
my
forgetting
it
,
sir
,
’
replied
Job
Trotter
.
With
these
words
he
left
the
room
,
followed
by
Sam
.
‘
I
say
,
’
said
the
latter
,
‘
not
a
bad
notion
that
‘
ere
crying
.
I
’
d
cry
like
a
rain
-
water
spout
in
a
shower
on
such
good
terms
.
How
do
you
do
it
?
’
‘
It
comes
from
the
heart
,
Mr
.
Walker
,
’
replied
Job
solemnly
.
‘
Good
-
morning
,
sir
.
’
‘
You
’
re
a
soft
customer
,
you
are
;
we
’
ve
got
it
all
out
o
’
you
,
anyhow
,
’
thought
Mr
.
Weller
,
as
Job
walked
away
.
We
cannot
state
the
precise
nature
of
the
thoughts
which
passed
through
Mr
.
Trotter
’
s
mind
,
because
we
don
’
t
know
what
they
were
.
The
day
wore
on
,
evening
came
,
and
at
a
little
before
ten
o
’
clock
Sam
Weller
reported
that
Mr
.
Jingle
and
Job
had
gone
out
together
,
that
their
luggage
was
packed
up
,
and
that
they
had
ordered
a
chaise
.
The
plot
was
evidently
in
execution
,
as
Mr
.
Trotter
had
foretold
.
Half
-
past
ten
o
’
clock
arrived
,
and
it
was
time
for
Mr
.
Pickwick
to
issue
forth
on
his
delicate
errand
.
Resisting
Sam
’
s
tender
of
his
greatcoat
,
in
order
that
he
might
have
no
encumbrance
in
scaling
the
wall
,
he
set
forth
,
followed
by
his
attendant
.
