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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 422/859
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‘
"
What
have
you
got
in
that
bottle
?
"
said
the
goblin
.
‘
"
Hollands
,
sir
,
"
replied
the
sexton
,
trembling
more
than
ever
;
for
he
had
bought
it
of
the
smugglers
,
and
he
thought
that
perhaps
his
questioner
might
be
in
the
excise
department
of
the
goblins
.
‘
"
Who
drinks
Hollands
alone
,
and
in
a
churchyard
,
on
such
a
night
as
this
?
"
said
the
goblin
.
‘
"
Gabriel
Grub
!
Gabriel
Grub
!
"
exclaimed
the
wild
voices
again
.
‘
The
goblin
leered
maliciously
at
the
terrified
sexton
,
and
then
raising
his
voice
,
exclaimed
—
‘
"
And
who
,
then
,
is
our
fair
and
lawful
prize
?
"
‘
To
this
inquiry
the
invisible
chorus
replied
,
in
a
strain
that
sounded
like
the
voices
of
many
choristers
singing
to
the
mighty
swell
of
the
old
church
organ
—
a
strain
that
seemed
borne
to
the
sexton
’
s
ears
upon
a
wild
wind
,
and
to
die
away
as
it
passed
onward
;
but
the
burden
of
the
reply
was
still
the
same
,
"
Gabriel
Grub
!
Gabriel
Grub
!
"
‘
The
goblin
grinned
a
broader
grin
than
before
,
as
he
said
,
"
Well
,
Gabriel
,
what
do
you
say
to
this
?
"
‘
The
sexton
gasped
for
breath
.
‘
"
What
do
you
think
of
this
,
Gabriel
?
"
said
the
goblin
,
kicking
up
his
feet
in
the
air
on
either
side
of
the
tombstone
,
and
looking
at
the
turned
-
up
points
with
as
much
complacency
as
if
he
had
been
contemplating
the
most
fashionable
pair
of
Wellingtons
in
all
Bond
Street
.
‘
"
It
’
s
—
it
’
s
—
very
curious
,
Sir
,
"
replied
the
sexton
,
half
dead
with
fright
;
"
very
curious
,
and
very
pretty
,
but
I
think
I
’
ll
go
back
and
finish
my
work
,
Sir
,
if
you
please
.
"
