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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 234/859
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Now
the
door
opened
outwards
;
and
as
the
door
opened
wider
and
wider
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
receded
behind
it
,
more
and
more
.
What
was
his
astonishment
when
he
just
peeped
out
,
by
way
of
caution
,
to
see
that
the
person
who
had
opened
it
was
—
not
Job
Trotter
,
but
a
servant
-
girl
with
a
candle
in
her
hand
!
Mr
.
Pickwick
drew
in
his
head
again
,
with
the
swiftness
displayed
by
that
admirable
melodramatic
performer
,
Punch
,
when
he
lies
in
wait
for
the
flat
-
headed
comedian
with
the
tin
box
of
music
.
‘
It
must
have
been
the
cat
,
Sarah
,
’
said
the
girl
,
addressing
herself
to
some
one
in
the
house
.
‘
Puss
,
puss
,
puss
—
tit
,
tit
,
tit
.
’
But
no
animal
being
decoyed
by
these
blandishments
,
the
girl
slowly
closed
the
door
,
and
re
-
fastened
it
;
leaving
Mr
.
Pickwick
drawn
up
straight
against
the
wall
.
‘
This
is
very
curious
,
’
thought
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
They
are
sitting
up
beyond
their
usual
hour
,
I
suppose
.
Extremely
unfortunate
,
that
they
should
have
chosen
this
night
,
of
all
others
,
for
such
a
purpose
—
exceedingly
.
’
And
with
these
thoughts
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
cautiously
retired
to
the
angle
of
the
wall
in
which
he
had
been
before
ensconced
;
waiting
until
such
time
as
he
might
deem
it
safe
to
repeat
the
signal
.
He
had
not
been
here
five
minutes
,
when
a
vivid
flash
of
lightning
was
followed
by
a
loud
peal
of
thunder
that
crashed
and
rolled
away
in
the
distance
with
a
terrific
noise
—
then
came
another
flash
of
lightning
,
brighter
than
the
other
,
and
a
second
peal
of
thunder
louder
than
the
first
;
and
then
down
came
the
rain
,
with
a
force
and
fury
that
swept
everything
before
it
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
perfectly
aware
that
a
tree
is
a
very
dangerous
neighbour
in
a
thunderstorm
.
He
had
a
tree
on
his
right
,
a
tree
on
his
left
,
a
third
before
him
,
and
a
fourth
behind
.
If
he
remained
where
he
was
,
he
might
fall
the
victim
of
an
accident
;
if
he
showed
himself
in
the
centre
of
the
garden
,
he
might
be
consigned
to
a
constable
.
Once
or
twice
he
tried
to
scale
the
wall
,
but
having
no
other
legs
this
time
,
than
those
with
which
Nature
had
furnished
him
,
the
only
effect
of
his
struggles
was
to
inflict
a
variety
of
very
unpleasant
gratings
on
his
knees
and
shins
,
and
to
throw
him
into
a
state
of
the
most
profuse
perspiration
.
‘
What
a
dreadful
situation
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
pausing
to
wipe
his
brow
after
this
exercise
.
He
looked
up
at
the
house
—
all
was
dark
.
They
must
be
gone
to
bed
now
.
He
would
try
the
signal
again
.
He
walked
on
tiptoe
across
the
moist
gravel
,
and
tapped
at
the
door
.
He
held
his
breath
,
and
listened
at
the
key
-
hole
.
No
reply
:
very
odd
.
Another
knock
.
He
listened
again
.
There
was
a
low
whispering
inside
,
and
then
a
voice
cried
—
‘
Who
’
s
there
?
’
