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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Стр. 383/859
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‘
Wery
good
,
sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
;
‘
anythin
’
more
,
sir
?
’
‘
Nothing
more
,
Sam
.
’
Mr
.
Weller
stepped
slowly
to
the
door
,
as
if
he
expected
something
more
;
slowly
opened
it
,
slowly
stepped
out
,
and
had
slowly
closed
it
within
a
couple
of
inches
,
when
Mr
.
Pickwick
called
out
—
‘
Sam
.
’
‘
Yes
,
sir
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
stepping
quickly
back
,
and
closing
the
door
behind
him
.
‘
I
have
no
objection
,
Sam
,
to
your
endeavouring
to
ascertain
how
Mrs
.
Bardell
herself
seems
disposed
towards
me
,
and
whether
it
is
really
probable
that
this
vile
and
groundless
action
is
to
be
carried
to
extremity
.
I
say
I
do
not
object
to
you
doing
this
,
if
you
wish
it
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
Sam
gave
a
short
nod
of
intelligence
,
and
left
the
room
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
drew
the
silk
handkerchief
once
more
over
his
head
,
And
composed
himself
for
a
nap
.
Mr
.
Weller
promptly
walked
forth
,
to
execute
his
commission
.
It
was
nearly
nine
o
’
clock
when
he
reached
Goswell
Street
.
A
couple
of
candles
were
burning
in
the
little
front
parlour
,
and
a
couple
of
caps
were
reflected
on
the
window
-
blind
.
Mrs
.
Bardell
had
got
company
.
Mr
.
Weller
knocked
at
the
door
,
and
after
a
pretty
long
interval
—
occupied
by
the
party
without
,
in
whistling
a
tune
,
and
by
the
party
within
,
in
persuading
a
refractory
flat
candle
to
allow
itself
to
be
lighted
—
a
pair
of
small
boots
pattered
over
the
floor
-
cloth
,
and
Master
Bardell
presented
himself
.
‘
Well
,
young
townskip
,
’
said
Sam
,
‘
how
’
s
mother
?
’
