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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 299/859
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Mr
.
Pickwick
eyed
the
old
man
with
great
curiosity
,
and
the
remainder
of
the
company
smiled
,
and
looked
on
in
silence
.
‘
Talk
of
your
German
universities
,
’
said
the
little
old
man
.
‘
Pooh
,
pooh
!
there
’
s
romance
enough
at
home
without
going
half
a
mile
for
it
;
only
people
never
think
of
it
.
’
‘
I
never
thought
of
the
romance
of
this
particular
subject
before
,
certainly
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
laughing
.
‘
To
be
sure
you
didn
’
t
,
’
said
the
little
old
man
;
‘
of
course
not
.
As
a
friend
of
mine
used
to
say
to
me
,
"
What
is
there
in
chambers
in
particular
?
"
"
Queer
old
places
,
"
said
I
.
"
Not
at
all
,
"
said
he
.
"
Lonely
,
"
said
I
.
"
Not
a
bit
of
it
,
"
said
he
.
He
died
one
morning
of
apoplexy
,
as
he
was
going
to
open
his
outer
door
.
Fell
with
his
head
in
his
own
letter
-
box
,
and
there
he
lay
for
eighteen
months
.
Everybody
thought
he
’
d
gone
out
of
town
.
’
‘
And
how
was
he
found
out
at
last
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
The
benchers
determined
to
have
his
door
broken
open
,
as
he
hadn
’
t
paid
any
rent
for
two
years
.
So
they
did
.
Forced
the
lock
;
and
a
very
dusty
skeleton
in
a
blue
coat
,
black
knee
-
shorts
,
and
silks
,
fell
forward
in
the
arms
of
the
porter
who
opened
the
door
.
Queer
,
that
.
Rather
,
perhaps
;
rather
,
eh
?
‘
The
little
old
man
put
his
head
more
on
one
side
,
and
rubbed
his
hands
with
unspeakable
glee
.
‘
I
know
another
case
,
’
said
the
little
old
man
,
when
his
chuckles
had
in
some
degree
subsided
.
‘
It
occurred
in
Clifford
’
s
Inn
.
Tenant
of
a
top
set
—
bad
character
—
shut
himself
up
in
his
bedroom
closet
,
and
took
a
dose
of
arsenic
.
The
steward
thought
he
had
run
away
:
opened
the
door
,
and
put
a
bill
up
.
Another
man
came
,
took
the
chambers
,
furnished
them
,
and
went
to
live
there
.
Somehow
or
other
he
couldn
’
t
sleep
—
always
restless
and
uncomfortable
.
"
Odd
,
"
says
he
.
"
I
’
ll
make
the
other
room
my
bedchamber
,
and
this
my
sitting
-
room
.
"
He
made
the
change
,
and
slept
very
well
at
night
,
but
suddenly
found
that
,
somehow
,
he
couldn
’
t
read
in
the
evening
:
he
got
nervous
and
uncomfortable
,
and
used
to
be
always
snuffing
his
candles
and
staring
about
him
.
"
I
can
’
t
make
this
out
,
"
said
he
,
when
he
came
home
from
the
play
one
night
,
and
was
drinking
a
glass
of
cold
grog
,
with
his
back
to
the
wall
,
in
order
that
he
mightn
’
t
be
able
to
fancy
there
was
any
one
behind
him
—
"
I
can
’
t
make
it
out
,
"
said
he
;
and
just
then
his
eyes
rested
on
the
little
closet
that
had
been
always
locked
up
,
and
a
shudder
ran
through
his
whole
frame
from
top
to
toe
.
"
I
have
felt
this
strange
feeling
before
,
"
said
he
,
"
I
cannot
help
thinking
there
’
s
something
wrong
about
that
closet
.
"
He
made
a
strong
effort
,
plucked
up
his
courage
,
shivered
the
lock
with
a
blow
or
two
of
the
poker
,
opened
the
door
,
and
there
,
sure
enough
,
standing
bolt
upright
in
the
corner
,
was
the
last
tenant
,
with
a
little
bottle
clasped
firmly
in
his
hand
,
and
his
face
—
well
!
’
As
the
little
old
man
concluded
,
he
looked
round
on
the
attentive
faces
of
his
wondering
auditory
with
a
smile
of
grim
delight
.
‘
What
strange
things
these
are
you
tell
us
of
,
Sir
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
minutely
scanning
the
old
man
’
s
countenance
,
by
the
aid
of
his
glasses
.
‘
Strange
!
’
said
the
little
old
man
.
‘
Nonsense
;
you
think
them
strange
,
because
you
know
nothing
about
it
.
They
are
funny
,
but
not
uncommon
.
’
