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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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He
was
riding
,
in
imagination
,
some
desperate
steeplechase
at
that
moment
.
Poor
wretch
!
He
never
rode
a
match
on
the
swiftest
animal
in
his
costly
stud
,
with
half
the
speed
at
which
he
had
torn
along
the
course
that
ended
in
the
Fleet
.
On
the
opposite
side
of
the
room
an
old
man
was
seated
on
a
small
wooden
box
,
with
his
eyes
riveted
on
the
floor
,
and
his
face
settled
into
an
expression
of
the
deepest
and
most
hopeless
despair
.
A
young
girl
—
his
little
grand
-
daughter
—
was
hanging
about
him
,
endeavouring
,
with
a
thousand
childish
devices
,
to
engage
his
attention
;
but
the
old
man
neither
saw
nor
heard
her
.
The
voice
that
had
been
music
to
him
,
and
the
eyes
that
had
been
light
,
fell
coldly
on
his
senses
.
His
limbs
were
shaking
with
disease
,
and
the
palsy
had
fastened
on
his
mind
.
There
were
two
or
three
other
men
in
the
room
,
congregated
in
a
little
knot
,
and
noiselessly
talking
among
themselves
.
There
was
a
lean
and
haggard
woman
,
too
—
a
prisoner
’
s
wife
—
who
was
watering
,
with
great
solicitude
,
the
wretched
stump
of
a
dried
-
up
,
withered
plant
,
which
,
it
was
plain
to
see
,
could
never
send
forth
a
green
leaf
again
—
too
true
an
emblem
,
perhaps
,
of
the
office
she
had
come
there
to
discharge
.
Such
were
the
objects
which
presented
themselves
to
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
view
,
as
he
looked
round
him
in
amazement
.
The
noise
of
some
one
stumbling
hastily
into
the
room
,
roused
him
.
Turning
his
eyes
towards
the
door
,
they
encountered
the
new
–
comer
;
and
in
him
,
through
his
rags
and
dirt
,
he
recognised
the
familiar
features
of
Mr
.
Job
Trotter
.
‘
Mr
.
Pickwick
!
’
exclaimed
Job
aloud
.
‘
Eh
?
’
said
Jingle
,
starting
from
his
seat
.
‘
Mr
—
!
So
it
is
—
queer
place
—
strange
things
—
serves
me
right
—
very
.
’
Mr
.
Jingle
thrust
his
hands
into
the
place
where
his
trousers
pockets
used
to
be
,
and
,
dropping
his
chin
upon
his
breast
,
sank
back
into
his
chair
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
affected
;
the
two
men
looked
so
very
miserable
.
The
sharp
,
involuntary
glance
Jingle
had
cast
at
a
small
piece
of
raw
loin
of
mutton
,
which
Job
had
brought
in
with
him
,
said
more
of
their
reduced
state
than
two
hours
’
explanation
could
have
done
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
looked
mildly
at
Jingle
,
and
said
—
‘
I
should
like
to
speak
to
you
in
private
.
Will
you
step
out
for
an
instant
?
’
‘
Certainly
,
’
said
Jingle
,
rising
hastily
.
‘
Can
’
t
step
far
—
no
danger
of
overwalking
yourself
here
—
spike
park
—
grounds
pretty
—
romantic
,
but
not
extensive
—
open
for
public
inspection
—
family
always
in
town
—
housekeeper
desperately
careful
—
very
.
’
