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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 265/859
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Mr
.
Tupman
,
with
the
most
obliging
haste
,
placed
his
piece
in
the
position
required
,
and
the
party
moved
on
again
;
the
two
amateurs
marching
with
reversed
arms
,
like
a
couple
of
privates
at
a
royal
funeral
.
The
dogs
suddenly
came
to
a
dead
stop
,
and
the
party
advancing
stealthily
a
single
pace
,
stopped
too
.
‘
What
’
s
the
matter
with
the
dogs
’
legs
?
’
whispered
Mr
.
Winkle
.
‘
How
queer
they
’
re
standing
.
’
‘
Hush
,
can
’
t
you
?
’
replied
Wardle
softly
.
‘
Don
’
t
you
see
,
they
’
re
making
a
point
?
’
‘
Making
a
point
!
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
,
staring
about
him
,
as
if
he
expected
to
discover
some
particular
beauty
in
the
landscape
,
which
the
sagacious
animals
were
calling
special
attention
to
.
‘
Making
a
point
!
What
are
they
pointing
at
?
’
‘
Keep
your
eyes
open
,
’
said
Wardle
,
not
heeding
the
question
in
the
excitement
of
the
moment
.
‘
Now
then
.
’
There
was
a
sharp
whirring
noise
,
that
made
Mr
.
Winkle
start
back
as
if
he
had
been
shot
himself
.
Bang
,
bang
,
went
a
couple
of
guns
—
the
smoke
swept
quickly
away
over
the
field
,
and
curled
into
the
air
.
‘
Where
are
they
!
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
,
in
a
state
of
the
highest
excitement
,
turning
round
and
round
in
all
directions
.
‘
Where
are
they
?
Tell
me
when
to
fire
.
Where
are
they
—
where
are
they
?
’
‘
Where
are
they
!
’
said
Wardle
,
taking
up
a
brace
of
birds
which
the
dogs
had
deposited
at
his
feet
.
‘
Why
,
here
they
are
.
’
