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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 331/859
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Up
came
the
man
,
and
his
face
became
more
frightfully
distorted
than
ever
,
as
he
drew
nearer
.
‘
I
could
take
my
oath
to
that
‘
ere
black
hair
and
mulberry
suit
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
;
‘
only
I
never
see
such
a
face
as
that
afore
.
’
As
Mr
.
Weller
said
this
,
the
man
’
s
features
assumed
an
unearthly
twinge
,
perfectly
hideous
.
He
was
obliged
to
pass
very
near
Sam
,
however
,
and
the
scrutinising
glance
of
that
gentleman
enabled
him
to
detect
,
under
all
these
appalling
twists
of
feature
,
something
too
like
the
small
eyes
of
Mr
.
Job
Trotter
to
be
easily
mistaken
.
‘
Hollo
,
you
Sir
!
’
shouted
Sam
fiercely
.
The
stranger
stopped
.
‘
Hollo
!
’
repeated
Sam
,
still
more
gruffly
.
The
man
with
the
horrible
face
looked
,
with
the
greatest
surprise
,
up
the
court
,
and
down
the
court
,
and
in
at
the
windows
of
the
houses
—
everywhere
but
at
Sam
Weller
—
and
took
another
step
forward
,
when
he
was
brought
to
again
by
another
shout
.
‘
Hollo
,
you
sir
!
’
said
Sam
,
for
the
third
time
.
There
was
no
pretending
to
mistake
where
the
voice
came
from
now
,
so
the
stranger
,
having
no
other
resource
,
at
last
looked
Sam
Weller
full
in
the
face
.
‘
It
won
’
t
do
,
Job
Trotter
,
’
said
Sam
.
‘
Come
!
None
o
’
that
‘
ere
nonsense
.
You
ain
’
t
so
wery
‘
andsome
that
you
can
afford
to
throw
avay
many
o
’
your
good
looks
.
Bring
them
‘
ere
eyes
o
’
yourn
back
into
their
proper
places
,
or
I
’
ll
knock
’
em
out
of
your
head
.
D
’
ye
hear
?
’
