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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 435/859
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‘
Never
mind
touching
your
hat
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
hastily
.
‘
You
needn
’
t
take
your
hand
away
to
do
that
.
I
meant
to
have
given
you
five
shillings
this
morning
for
a
Christmas
box
,
Sam
.
I
’
ll
give
it
you
this
afternoon
,
Sam
.
’
‘
You
’
re
wery
good
,
sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
.
‘
Just
hold
me
at
first
,
Sam
;
will
you
?
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
.
‘
There
—
that
’
s
right
.
I
shall
soon
get
in
the
way
of
it
,
Sam
.
Not
too
fast
,
Sam
;
not
too
fast
.
’
Mr
.
Winkle
,
stooping
forward
,
with
his
body
half
doubled
up
,
was
being
assisted
over
the
ice
by
Mr
.
Weller
,
in
a
very
singular
and
un
-
swan
-
like
manner
,
when
Mr
.
Pickwick
most
innocently
shouted
from
the
opposite
bank
—
‘
Sam
!
’
‘
Sir
?
’
‘
Here
.
I
want
you
.
’
‘
Let
go
,
Sir
,
’
said
Sam
.
‘
Don
’
t
you
hear
the
governor
a
-
callin
’
?
Let
go
,
sir
.
’
With
a
violent
effort
,
Mr
.
Weller
disengaged
himself
from
the
grasp
of
the
agonised
Pickwickian
,
and
,
in
so
doing
,
administered
a
considerable
impetus
to
the
unhappy
Mr
.
Winkle
.
With
an
accuracy
which
no
degree
of
dexterity
or
practice
could
have
insured
,
that
unfortunate
gentleman
bore
swiftly
down
into
the
centre
of
the
reel
,
at
the
very
moment
when
Mr
.
Bob
Sawyer
was
performing
a
flourish
of
unparalleled
beauty
.
Mr
.
Winkle
struck
wildly
against
him
,
and
with
a
loud
crash
they
both
fell
heavily
down
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
ran
to
the
spot
.
Bob
Sawyer
had
risen
to
his
feet
,
but
Mr
.
Winkle
was
far
too
wise
to
do
anything
of
the
kind
,
in
skates
.
He
was
seated
on
the
ice
,
making
spasmodic
efforts
to
smile
;
but
anguish
was
depicted
on
every
lineament
of
his
countenance
.
