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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 659/859
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‘
Bless
you
,
my
dear
fellow
!
’
replied
the
warm
-
hearted
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
as
he
returned
the
pressure
of
his
young
friend
’
s
hand
.
‘
Now
then
!
’
cried
Mr
.
Tupman
from
the
gallery
.
‘
Yes
,
yes
,
directly
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Winkle
.
‘
Good
-
night
!
’
‘
Good
-
night
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
There
was
another
good
-
night
,
and
another
,
and
half
a
dozen
more
after
that
,
and
still
Mr
.
Winkle
had
fast
hold
of
his
friend
’
s
hand
,
and
was
looking
into
his
face
with
the
same
strange
expression
.
‘
Is
anything
the
matter
?
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
at
last
,
when
his
arm
was
quite
sore
with
shaking
.
‘
Nothing
,
’
said
Mr
.
Winkle
.
‘
Well
then
,
good
-
night
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
attempting
to
disengage
his
hand
.
‘
My
friend
,
my
benefactor
,
my
honoured
companion
,
’
murmured
Mr
.
Winkle
,
catching
at
his
wrist
.
‘
Do
not
judge
me
harshly
;
do
not
,
when
you
hear
that
,
driven
to
extremity
by
hopeless
obstacles
,
I
—
’
‘
Now
then
,
’
said
Mr
.
Tupman
,
reappearing
at
the
door
.
‘
Are
you
coming
,
or
are
we
to
be
locked
in
?
’
