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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 434/859
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‘
Stop
,
Sam
,
stop
!
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
,
trembling
violently
,
and
clutching
hold
of
Sam
’
s
arms
with
the
grasp
of
a
drowning
man
.
‘
How
slippery
it
is
,
Sam
!
’
‘
Not
an
uncommon
thing
upon
ice
,
Sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
.
‘
Hold
up
,
Sir
!
’
This
last
observation
of
Mr
.
Weller
’
s
bore
reference
to
a
demonstration
Mr
.
Winkle
made
at
the
instant
,
of
a
frantic
desire
to
throw
his
feet
in
the
air
,
and
dash
the
back
of
his
head
on
the
ice
.
‘
These
—
these
—
are
very
awkward
skates
;
ain
’
t
they
,
Sam
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Winkle
,
staggering
.
‘
I
’
m
afeerd
there
’
s
a
orkard
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
in
’
em
,
Sir
,
’
replied
Sam
.
‘
Now
,
Winkle
,
’
cried
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
quite
unconscious
that
there
was
anything
the
matter
.
‘
Come
;
the
ladies
are
all
anxiety
.
’
‘
Yes
,
yes
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Winkle
,
with
a
ghastly
smile
.
‘
I
’
m
coming
.
’
‘
Just
a
-
goin
’
to
begin
,
’
said
Sam
,
endeavouring
to
disengage
himself
.
‘
Now
,
Sir
,
start
off
!
’
‘
Stop
an
instant
,
Sam
,
’
gasped
Mr
.
Winkle
,
clinging
most
affectionately
to
Mr
.
Weller
.
‘
I
find
I
’
ve
got
a
couple
of
coats
at
home
that
I
don
’
t
want
,
Sam
.
You
may
have
them
,
Sam
.
’
‘
Thank
’
ee
,
Sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
.
