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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 333/859
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‘
What
have
you
got
to
say
to
me
?
’
‘
I
,
Mr
.
Walker
!
’
‘
Don
’
t
call
me
Valker
;
my
name
’
s
Veller
;
you
know
that
vell
enough
.
What
have
you
got
to
say
to
me
?
’
‘
Bless
you
,
Mr
.
Walker
—
Weller
,
I
mean
—
a
great
many
things
,
if
you
will
come
away
somewhere
,
where
we
can
talk
comfortably
.
If
you
knew
how
I
have
looked
for
you
,
Mr
.
Weller
—
’
‘
Wery
hard
,
indeed
,
I
s
’
pose
?
’
said
Sam
drily
.
‘
Very
,
very
,
Sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Trotter
,
without
moving
a
muscle
of
his
face
.
‘
But
shake
hands
,
Mr
.
Weller
.
’
Sam
eyed
his
companion
for
a
few
seconds
,
and
then
,
as
if
actuated
by
a
sudden
impulse
,
complied
with
his
request
.
‘
How
,
’
said
Job
Trotter
,
as
they
walked
away
,
‘
how
is
your
dear
,
good
master
?
Oh
,
he
is
a
worthy
gentleman
,
Mr
.
Weller
!
I
hope
he
didn
’
t
catch
cold
,
that
dreadful
night
,
Sir
.
’
There
was
a
momentary
look
of
deep
slyness
in
Job
Trotter
’
s
eye
,
as
he
said
this
,
which
ran
a
thrill
through
Mr
.
Weller
’
s
clenched
fist
,
as
he
burned
with
a
desire
to
make
a
demonstration
on
his
ribs
.
Sam
constrained
himself
,
however
,
and
replied
that
his
master
was
extremely
well
.
‘
Oh
,
I
am
so
glad
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Trotter
;
‘
is
he
here
?
’
‘
Is
yourn
?
’
asked
Sam
,
by
way
of
reply
.
