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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 270/859
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’
If
it
apply
in
an
equal
degree
to
shot
,
those
of
Mr
.
Winkle
were
unfortunate
foundlings
,
deprived
of
their
natural
rights
,
cast
loose
upon
the
world
,
and
billeted
nowhere
.
‘
Well
,
’
said
Wardle
,
walking
up
to
the
side
of
the
barrow
,
and
wiping
the
streams
of
perspiration
from
his
jolly
red
face
;
‘
smoking
day
,
isn
’
t
it
?
’
‘
It
is
,
indeed
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
The
sun
is
tremendously
hot
,
even
to
me
.
I
don
’
t
know
how
you
must
feel
it
.
’
‘
Why
,
’
said
the
old
gentleman
,
‘
pretty
hot
.
It
’
s
past
twelve
,
though
.
You
see
that
green
hill
there
?
’
‘
Certainly
.
’
‘
That
’
s
the
place
where
we
are
to
lunch
;
and
,
by
Jove
,
there
’
s
the
boy
with
the
basket
,
punctual
as
clockwork
!
’
‘
So
he
is
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
brightening
up
.
‘
Good
boy
,
that
.
I
’
ll
give
him
a
shilling
,
presently
.
Now
,
then
,
Sam
,
wheel
away
.
’
‘
Hold
on
,
sir
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
invigorated
with
the
prospect
of
refreshments
.
‘
Out
of
the
vay
,
young
leathers
.
If
you
walley
my
precious
life
don
’
t
upset
me
,
as
the
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
said
to
the
driver
when
they
was
a
-
carryin
’
him
to
Tyburn
.
’
And
quickening
his
pace
to
a
sharp
run
,
Mr
.
Weller
wheeled
his
master
nimbly
to
the
green
hill
,
shot
him
dexterously
out
by
the
very
side
of
the
basket
,
and
proceeded
to
unpack
it
with
the
utmost
despatch
.
‘
Weal
pie
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
soliloquising
,
as
he
arranged
the
eatables
on
the
grass
.
‘
Wery
good
thing
is
weal
pie
,
when
you
know
the
lady
as
made
it
,
and
is
quite
sure
it
ain
’
t
kittens
;
and
arter
all
though
,
where
’
s
the
odds
,
when
they
’
re
so
like
weal
that
the
wery
piemen
themselves
don
’
t
know
the
difference
?
’
‘
Don
’
t
they
,
Sam
?
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
