-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
-
- Стр. 463/859
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
‘
Dear
me
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
‘
I
beg
your
pardon
.
’
‘
Don
’
t
mention
it
,
don
’
t
mention
it
,
’
said
Bob
Sawyer
.
‘
I
’
m
rather
confined
for
room
here
,
but
you
must
put
up
with
all
that
,
when
you
come
to
see
a
young
bachelor
.
Walk
in
.
You
’
ve
seen
this
gentleman
before
,
I
think
?
’
Mr
.
Pickwick
shook
hands
with
Mr
.
Benjamin
Allen
,
and
his
friends
followed
his
example
.
They
had
scarcely
taken
their
seats
when
there
was
another
double
knock
.
‘
I
hope
that
’
s
Jack
Hopkins
!
’
said
Mr
.
Bob
Sawyer
.
‘
Hush
.
Yes
,
it
is
.
Come
up
,
Jack
;
come
up
.
’
A
heavy
footstep
was
heard
upon
the
stairs
,
and
Jack
Hopkins
presented
himself
.
He
wore
a
black
velvet
waistcoat
,
with
thunder
-
and
-
lightning
buttons
;
and
a
blue
striped
shirt
,
with
a
white
false
collar
.
‘
You
’
re
late
,
Jack
?
’
said
Mr
.
Benjamin
Allen
.
‘
Been
detained
at
Bartholomew
’
s
,
’
replied
Hopkins
.
‘
Anything
new
?
’
‘
No
,
nothing
particular
.
Rather
a
good
accident
brought
into
the
casualty
ward
.
’
‘
What
was
that
,
sir
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
