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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 259/859
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‘
And
our
friend
was
soothing
her
anguish
,
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
,
rather
maliciously
.
‘
So
I
was
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
I
don
’
t
deny
it
.
So
I
was
.
’
‘
Hollo
!
’
said
Wardle
;
‘
for
a
case
in
which
there
’
s
nothing
suspicious
,
this
looks
rather
queer
—
eh
,
Pickwick
?
Ah
,
sly
dog
—
sly
dog
!
’
and
he
laughed
till
the
glasses
on
the
sideboard
rang
again
.
‘
What
a
dreadful
conjunction
of
appearances
!
’
exclaimed
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
resting
his
chin
upon
his
hands
.
‘
Winkle
—
Tupman
—
I
beg
your
pardon
for
the
observations
I
made
just
now
.
We
are
all
the
victims
of
circumstances
,
and
I
the
greatest
.
’
With
this
apology
Mr
.
Pickwick
buried
his
head
in
his
hands
,
and
ruminated
;
while
Wardle
measured
out
a
regular
circle
of
nods
and
winks
,
addressed
to
the
other
members
of
the
company
.
‘
I
’
ll
have
it
explained
,
though
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
raising
his
head
and
hammering
the
table
.
‘
I
’
ll
see
this
Dodson
and
Fogg
!
I
’
ll
go
to
London
to
-
morrow
.
’
‘
Not
to
-
morrow
,
’
said
Wardle
;
‘
you
’
re
too
lame
.
’
‘
Well
,
then
,
next
day
.
’
‘
Next
day
is
the
first
of
September
,
and
you
’
re
pledged
to
ride
out
with
us
,
as
far
as
Sir
Geoffrey
Manning
’
s
grounds
at
all
events
,
and
to
meet
us
at
lunch
,
if
you
don
’
t
take
the
field
.
’
‘
Well
,
then
,
the
day
after
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
;
‘
Thursday
.
—
Sam
!
’
‘
Sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
