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- Чарльз Диккенс
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‘
You
don
’
t
mean
to
say
he
was
burked
,
Sam
?
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
looking
hastily
round
.
‘
No
,
I
don
’
t
indeed
,
sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
,
‘
I
wish
I
did
;
far
worse
than
that
.
He
was
the
master
o
’
that
‘
ere
shop
,
sir
,
and
the
inwentor
o
’
the
patent
-
never
-
leavin
’
-
off
sassage
steam
-
ingin
,
as
’
ud
swaller
up
a
pavin
’
stone
if
you
put
it
too
near
,
and
grind
it
into
sassages
as
easy
as
if
it
was
a
tender
young
babby
.
Wery
proud
o
’
that
machine
he
was
,
as
it
was
nat
’
ral
he
should
be
,
and
he
’
d
stand
down
in
the
celler
a
-
lookin
’
at
it
wen
it
was
in
full
play
,
till
he
got
quite
melancholy
with
joy
.
A
wery
happy
man
he
’
d
ha
’
been
,
Sir
,
in
the
procession
o
’
that
‘
ere
ingin
and
two
more
lovely
hinfants
besides
,
if
it
hadn
’
t
been
for
his
wife
,
who
was
a
most
owdacious
wixin
.
She
was
always
a
-
follerin
’
him
about
,
and
dinnin
’
in
his
ears
,
till
at
last
he
couldn
’
t
stand
it
no
longer
.
"
I
’
ll
tell
you
what
it
is
,
my
dear
,
"
he
says
one
day
;
"
if
you
persewere
in
this
here
sort
of
amusement
,
"
he
says
,
"
I
’
m
blessed
if
I
don
’
t
go
away
to
‘
Merriker
;
and
that
’
s
all
about
it
.
"
"
You
’
re
a
idle
willin
,
"
says
she
,
"
and
I
wish
the
‘
Merrikins
joy
of
their
bargain
.
"
Arter
which
she
keeps
on
abusin
’
of
him
for
half
an
hour
,
and
then
runs
into
the
little
parlour
behind
the
shop
,
sets
to
a
-
screamin
’
,
says
he
’
ll
be
the
death
on
her
,
and
falls
in
a
fit
,
which
lasts
for
three
good
hours
—
one
o
’
them
fits
wich
is
all
screamin
’
and
kickin
’
.
Well
,
next
mornin
’
,
the
husband
was
missin
’
.
He
hadn
’
t
taken
nothin
’
from
the
till
—
hadn
’
t
even
put
on
his
greatcoat
—
so
it
was
quite
clear
he
warn
’
t
gone
to
‘
Merriker
.
Didn
’
t
come
back
next
day
;
didn
’
t
come
back
next
week
;
missis
had
bills
printed
,
sayin
’
that
,
if
he
’
d
come
back
,
he
should
be
forgiven
everythin
’
(
which
was
very
liberal
,
seein
’
that
he
hadn
’
t
done
nothin
’
at
all
)
;
the
canals
was
dragged
,
and
for
two
months
arterwards
,
wenever
a
body
turned
up
,
it
was
carried
,
as
a
reg
’
lar
thing
,
straight
off
to
the
sassage
shop
.
Hows
’
ever
,
none
on
’
em
answered
;
so
they
gave
out
that
he
’
d
run
away
,
and
she
kep
’
on
the
bis
’
ness
.
One
Saturday
night
,
a
little
,
thin
,
old
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
comes
into
the
shop
in
a
great
passion
and
says
,
"
Are
you
the
missis
o
’
this
here
shop
?
"
"
Yes
,
I
am
,
"
says
she
.
"
Well
,
ma
’
am
,
"
says
he
,
"
then
I
’
ve
just
looked
in
to
say
that
me
and
my
family
ain
’
t
a
-
goin
’
to
be
choked
for
nothin
’
;
and
more
than
that
,
ma
’
am
,
"
he
says
,
"
you
’
ll
allow
me
to
observe
that
as
you
don
’
t
use
the
primest
parts
of
the
meat
in
the
manafacter
o
’
sassages
,
I
’
d
think
you
’
d
find
beef
come
nearly
as
cheap
as
buttons
.
"
"
As
buttons
,
Sir
!
"
says
she
.
"
Buttons
,
ma
’
am
,
"
says
the
little
,
old
gentleman
,
unfolding
a
bit
of
paper
,
and
showin
’
twenty
or
thirty
halves
o
’
buttons
.
"
Nice
seasonin
’
for
sassages
,
is
trousers
’
buttons
,
ma
’
am
.
"
"
They
’
re
my
husband
’
s
buttons
!
"
says
the
widder
beginnin
’
to
faint
,
"
What
!
"
screams
the
little
old
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
,
turnin
’
wery
pale
.
"
I
see
it
all
,
"
says
the
widder
;
"
in
a
fit
of
temporary
insanity
he
rashly
converted
hisself
into
sassages
!
"
And
so
he
had
,
Sir
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
looking
steadily
into
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
horror
-
stricken
countenance
,
‘
or
else
he
’
d
been
draw
’
d
into
the
ingin
;
but
however
that
might
ha
’
been
,
the
little
,
old
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
,
who
had
been
remarkably
partial
to
sassages
all
his
life
,
rushed
out
o
’
the
shop
in
a
wild
state
,
and
was
never
heerd
on
arterwards
!
’
The
relation
of
this
affecting
incident
of
private
life
brought
master
and
man
to
Mr
.
Perker
’
s
chambers
.
Lowten
,
holding
the
door
half
open
,
was
in
conversation
with
a
rustily
-
clad
,
miserable
-
looking
man
,
in
boots
without
toes
and
gloves
without
fingers
.
There
were
traces
of
privation
and
suffering
—
almost
of
despair
—
in
his
lank
and
care
-
worn
countenance
;
he
felt
his
poverty
,
for
he
shrank
to
the
dark
side
of
the
staircase
as
Mr
.
Pickwick
approached
.
‘
It
’
s
very
unfortunate
,
’
said
the
stranger
,
with
a
sigh
.
‘
Very
,
’
said
Lowten
,
scribbling
his
name
on
the
doorpost
with
his
pen
,
and
rubbing
it
out
again
with
the
feather
.
‘
Will
you
leave
a
message
for
him
?
’
‘
When
do
you
think
he
’
ll
be
back
?
’
inquired
the
stranger
.
‘
Quite
uncertain
,
’
replied
Lowten
,
winking
at
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
as
the
stranger
cast
his
eyes
towards
the
ground
.
