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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 624/859
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‘
You
have
forgotten
your
coat
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
as
they
walked
out
to
the
staircase
,
and
closed
the
door
after
them
.
‘
Eh
?
’
said
Jingle
.
‘
Spout
—
dear
relation
—
uncle
Tom
—
couldn
’
t
help
it
—
must
eat
,
you
know
.
Wants
of
nature
—
and
all
that
.
’
‘
What
do
you
mean
?
’
‘
Gone
,
my
dear
sir
—
last
coat
—
can
’
t
help
it
.
Lived
on
a
pair
of
boots
—
whole
fortnight
.
Silk
umbrella
—
ivory
handle
—
week
—
fact
—
honour
—
ask
Job
—
knows
it
.
’
‘
Lived
for
three
weeks
upon
a
pair
of
boots
,
and
a
silk
umbrella
with
an
ivory
handle
!
’
exclaimed
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
who
had
only
heard
of
such
things
in
shipwrecks
or
read
of
them
in
Constable
’
s
Miscellany
.
‘
True
,
’
said
Jingle
,
nodding
his
head
.
‘
Pawnbroker
’
s
shop
—
duplicates
here
—
small
sums
—
mere
nothing
—
all
rascals
.
’
‘
Oh
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
much
relieved
by
this
explanation
;
‘
I
understand
you
.
You
have
pawned
your
wardrobe
.
’
‘
Everything
—
Job
’
s
too
—
all
shirts
gone
—
never
mind
—
saves
washing
.
Nothing
soon
—
lie
in
bed
—
starve
—
die
—
inquest
—
little
bone
-
house
—
poor
prisoner
—
common
necessaries
—
hush
it
up
—
gentlemen
of
the
jury
—
warden
’
s
tradesmen
—
keep
it
snug
—
natural
death
—
coroner
’
s
order
—
workhouse
funeral
—
serve
him
right
—
all
over
—
drop
the
curtain
.
’
Jingle
delivered
this
singular
summary
of
his
prospects
in
life
,
with
his
accustomed
volubility
,
and
with
various
twitches
of
the
countenance
to
counterfeit
smiles
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
easily
perceived
that
his
recklessness
was
assumed
,
and
looking
him
full
,
but
not
unkindly
,
in
the
face
,
saw
that
his
eyes
were
moist
with
tears
.
