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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 268/859
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‘
Now
,
Winkle
,
’
said
the
old
gentleman
,
‘
follow
me
softly
,
and
don
’
t
be
too
late
this
time
.
’
‘
Never
fear
,
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
.
‘
Are
they
pointing
?
’
‘
No
,
no
;
not
now
.
Quietly
now
,
quietly
.
’
On
they
crept
,
and
very
quietly
they
would
have
advanced
,
if
Mr
.
Winkle
,
in
the
performance
of
some
very
intricate
evolutions
with
his
gun
,
had
not
accidentally
fired
,
at
the
most
critical
moment
,
over
the
boy
’
s
head
,
exactly
in
the
very
spot
where
the
tall
man
’
s
brain
would
have
been
,
had
he
been
there
instead
.
‘
Why
,
what
on
earth
did
you
do
that
for
?
’
said
old
Wardle
,
as
the
birds
flew
unharmed
away
.
‘
I
never
saw
such
a
gun
in
my
life
,
’
replied
poor
Mr
.
Winkle
,
looking
at
the
lock
,
as
if
that
would
do
any
good
.
‘
It
goes
off
of
its
own
accord
.
It
WILL
do
it
.
’
‘
Will
do
it
!
’
echoed
Wardle
,
with
something
of
irritation
in
his
manner
.
‘
I
wish
it
would
kill
something
of
its
own
accord
.
’
‘
It
’
ll
do
that
afore
long
,
Sir
,
’
observed
the
tall
man
,
in
a
low
,
prophetic
voice
.
‘
What
do
you
mean
by
that
observation
,
Sir
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Winkle
,
angrily
.
‘
Never
mind
,
Sir
,
never
mind
,
’
replied
the
long
gamekeeper
;
‘
I
’
ve
no
family
myself
,
sir
;
and
this
here
boy
’
s
mother
will
get
something
handsome
from
Sir
Geoffrey
,
if
he
’
s
killed
on
his
land
.
Load
again
,
Sir
,
load
again
.
’
‘
Take
away
his
gun
,
’
cried
Mr
.
