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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 427/859
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But
this
opinion
,
which
was
by
no
means
a
popular
one
at
any
time
,
gradually
died
off
;
and
be
the
matter
how
it
may
,
as
Gabriel
Grub
was
afflicted
with
rheumatism
to
the
end
of
his
days
,
this
story
has
at
least
one
moral
,
if
it
teach
no
better
one
—
and
that
is
,
that
if
a
man
turn
sulky
and
drink
by
himself
at
Christmas
time
,
he
may
make
up
his
mind
to
be
not
a
bit
the
better
for
it
:
let
the
spirits
be
never
so
good
,
or
let
them
be
even
as
many
degrees
beyond
proof
,
as
those
which
Gabriel
Grub
saw
in
the
goblin
’
s
cavern
.
’
‘
Well
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
as
that
favoured
servitor
entered
his
bed
-
chamber
,
with
his
warm
water
,
on
the
morning
of
Christmas
Day
,
‘
still
frosty
?
’
‘
Water
in
the
wash
-
hand
basin
’
s
a
mask
o
’
ice
,
Sir
,
’
responded
Sam
.
‘
Severe
weather
,
Sam
,
’
observed
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Fine
time
for
them
as
is
well
wropped
up
,
as
the
Polar
bear
said
to
himself
,
ven
he
was
practising
his
skating
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
.
‘
I
shall
be
down
in
a
quarter
of
an
hour
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
untying
his
nightcap
.
‘
Wery
good
,
sir
,
’
replied
Sam
.
‘
There
’
s
a
couple
o
’
sawbones
downstairs
.
’
‘
A
couple
of
what
!
’
exclaimed
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
sitting
up
in
bed
.
‘
A
couple
o
’
sawbones
,
’
said
Sam
.
‘
What
’
s
a
sawbones
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
not
quite
certain
whether
it
was
a
live
animal
,
or
something
to
eat
.
