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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 637/859
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‘
Who
wos
he
,
Sammy
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Weller
.
‘
Never
mind
who
he
was
,
’
retorted
Sam
;
‘
he
warn
’
t
a
coachman
;
that
’
s
enough
for
you
.
’
‘
I
know
’
d
a
ostler
o
’
that
name
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
musing
.
‘
It
warn
’
t
him
,
’
said
Sam
.
‘
This
here
gen
’
l
’
m
’
n
was
a
prophet
.
’
‘
Wot
’
s
a
prophet
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Weller
,
looking
sternly
on
his
son
.
‘
Wy
,
a
man
as
tells
what
’
s
a
-
goin
’
to
happen
,
’
replied
Sam
.
‘
I
wish
I
’
d
know
’
d
him
,
Sammy
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
.
‘
P
’
raps
he
might
ha
’
throw
’
d
a
small
light
on
that
‘
ere
liver
complaint
as
we
wos
a
-
speakin
’
on
,
just
now
.
Hows
’
ever
,
if
he
’
s
dead
,
and
ain
’
t
left
the
bisness
to
nobody
,
there
’
s
an
end
on
it
.
Go
on
,
Sammy
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
with
a
sigh
.
‘
Well
,
’
said
Sam
,
‘
you
’
ve
been
a
-
prophecyin
’
avay
about
wot
’
ll
happen
to
the
gov
’
ner
if
he
’
s
left
alone
.
Don
’
t
you
see
any
way
o
’
takin
’
care
on
him
?
’
‘
No
,
I
don
’
t
,
Sammy
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
with
a
reflective
visage
.
‘
No
vay
at
all
?
’
inquired
Sam
.
