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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 652/859
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‘
Come
,
come
,
’
said
Sam
,
‘
that
von
’
t
do
.
I
wish
some
rich
enemy
’
ud
try
to
vork
my
destruction
in
that
‘
ere
vay
.
I
’
d
let
him
.
’
‘
Oh
,
I
dare
say
you
don
’
t
believe
it
,
’
said
the
cobbler
,
quietly
smoking
his
pipe
.
‘
I
wouldn
’
t
if
I
was
you
;
but
it
’
s
true
for
all
that
.
’
‘
How
wos
it
?
’
inquired
Sam
,
half
induced
to
believe
the
fact
already
,
by
the
look
the
cobbler
gave
him
.
‘
Just
this
,
’
replied
the
cobbler
;
‘
an
old
gentleman
that
I
worked
for
,
down
in
the
country
,
and
a
humble
relation
of
whose
I
married
—
she
’
s
dead
,
God
bless
her
,
and
thank
Him
for
it
!
—
was
seized
with
a
fit
and
went
off
.
’
‘
Where
?
’
inquired
Sam
,
who
was
growing
sleepy
after
the
numerous
events
of
the
day
.
‘
How
should
I
know
where
he
went
?
’
said
the
cobbler
,
speaking
through
his
nose
in
an
intense
enjoyment
of
his
pipe
.
‘
He
went
off
dead
.
’
‘
Oh
,
that
indeed
,
’
said
Sam
.
‘
Well
?
’
‘
Well
,
’
said
the
cobbler
,
‘
he
left
five
thousand
pound
behind
him
.
’
‘
And
wery
gen
-
teel
in
him
so
to
do
,
’
said
Sam
.
