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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 248/859
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What
does
our
dastardly
contemporary
mean
?
What
would
the
ruffian
say
,
if
we
,
setting
at
naught
,
like
him
,
the
decencies
of
social
intercourse
,
were
to
raise
the
curtain
which
happily
conceals
His
private
life
from
general
ridicule
,
not
to
say
from
general
execration
?
What
,
if
we
were
even
to
point
out
,
and
comment
on
,
facts
and
circumstances
,
which
are
publicly
notorious
,
and
beheld
by
every
one
but
our
mole
-
eyed
contemporary
—
what
if
we
were
to
print
the
following
effusion
,
which
we
received
while
we
were
writing
the
commencement
of
this
article
,
from
a
talented
fellow
-
townsman
and
correspondent
?
‘
"
LINES
TO
A
BRASS
POT
‘
"
Oh
Pott
!
if
you
’
d
known
How
false
she
’
d
have
grown
,
When
you
heard
the
marriage
bells
tinkle
;
You
’
d
have
done
then
,
I
vow
,
What
you
cannot
help
now
,
And
handed
her
over
to
W
—
—
"
’
‘
What
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pott
solemnly
—
‘
what
rhymes
to
"
tinkle
,
"
villain
?
’
‘
What
rhymes
to
tinkle
?
’
said
Mrs
.
Pott
,
whose
entrance
at
the
moment
forestalled
the
reply
.
‘
What
rhymes
to
tinkle
?
Why
,
Winkle
,
I
should
conceive
.
’
Saying
this
,
Mrs
.
Pott
smiled
sweetly
on
the
disturbed
Pickwickian
,
and
extended
her
hand
towards
him
.
The
agitated
young
man
would
have
accepted
it
,
in
his
confusion
,
had
not
Pott
indignantly
interposed
.
‘
Back
,
ma
’
am
—
back
!
’
said
the
editor
.
‘
Take
his
hand
before
my
very
face
!
’
