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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 323/859
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‘
It
is
the
best
idea
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
to
himself
,
smiling
till
he
almost
cracked
the
nightcap
strings
—
‘
it
is
the
best
idea
,
my
losing
myself
in
this
place
,
and
wandering
about
these
staircases
,
that
I
ever
heard
of
.
Droll
,
droll
,
very
droll
.
’
Here
Mr
.
Pickwick
smiled
again
,
a
broader
smile
than
before
,
and
was
about
to
continue
the
process
of
undressing
,
in
the
best
possible
humour
,
when
he
was
suddenly
stopped
by
a
most
unexpected
interruption
:
to
wit
,
the
entrance
into
the
room
of
some
person
with
a
candle
,
who
,
after
locking
the
door
,
advanced
to
the
dressing
-
table
,
and
set
down
the
light
upon
it
.
The
smile
that
played
on
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
features
was
instantaneously
lost
in
a
look
of
the
most
unbounded
and
wonder
-
stricken
surprise
.
The
person
,
whoever
it
was
,
had
come
in
so
suddenly
and
with
so
little
noise
,
that
Mr
.
Pickwick
had
had
no
time
to
call
out
,
or
oppose
their
entrance
.
Who
could
it
be
?
A
robber
?
Some
evil
-
minded
person
who
had
seen
him
come
upstairs
with
a
handsome
watch
in
his
hand
,
perhaps
.
What
was
he
to
do
?
The
only
way
in
which
Mr
.
Pickwick
could
catch
a
glimpse
of
his
mysterious
visitor
with
the
least
danger
of
being
seen
himself
,
was
by
creeping
on
to
the
bed
,
and
peeping
out
from
between
the
curtains
on
the
opposite
side
.
To
this
manoeuvre
he
accordingly
resorted
.
Keeping
the
curtains
carefully
closed
with
his
hand
,
so
that
nothing
more
of
him
could
be
seen
than
his
face
and
nightcap
,
and
putting
on
his
spectacles
,
he
mustered
up
courage
and
looked
out
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
almost
fainted
with
horror
and
dismay
.
Standing
before
the
dressing
-
glass
was
a
middle
-
aged
lady
,
in
yellow
curl
-
papers
,
busily
engaged
in
brushing
what
ladies
call
their
‘
back
-
hair
.
’
However
the
unconscious
middle
-
aged
lady
came
into
that
room
,
it
was
quite
clear
that
she
contemplated
remaining
there
for
the
night
;
for
she
had
brought
a
rushlight
and
shade
with
her
,
which
,
with
praiseworthy
precaution
against
fire
,
she
had
stationed
in
a
basin
on
the
floor
,
where
it
was
glimmering
away
,
like
a
gigantic
lighthouse
in
a
particularly
small
piece
of
water
.
‘
Bless
my
soul
!
’
thought
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
‘
what
a
dreadful
thing
!
’
‘
Hem
!
’
said
the
lady
;
and
in
went
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
head
with
automaton
-
like
rapidity
.
‘
I
never
met
with
anything
so
awful
as
this
,
’
thought
poor
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
the
cold
perspiration
starting
in
drops
upon
his
nightcap
.
‘
Never
.
This
is
fearful
.
’
It
was
quite
impossible
to
resist
the
urgent
desire
to
see
what
was
going
forward
.
So
out
went
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
head
again
.
The
prospect
was
worse
than
before
.
The
middle
-
aged
lady
had
finished
arranging
her
hair
;
had
carefully
enveloped
it
in
a
muslin
nightcap
with
a
small
plaited
border
;
and
was
gazing
pensively
on
the
fire
.
