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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 680/859
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‘
Now
,
’
said
Sam
,
‘
drink
that
up
,
ev
’
ry
drop
on
it
,
and
then
turn
the
pot
upside
down
,
to
let
me
see
as
you
’
ve
took
the
medicine
.
’
‘
But
,
my
dear
Mr
.
Weller
,
’
remonstrated
Job
.
‘
Down
vith
it
!
’
said
Sam
peremptorily
.
Thus
admonished
,
Mr
.
Trotter
raised
the
pot
to
his
lips
,
and
,
by
gentle
and
almost
imperceptible
degrees
,
tilted
it
into
the
air
.
He
paused
once
,
and
only
once
,
to
draw
a
long
breath
,
but
without
raising
his
face
from
the
vessel
,
which
,
in
a
few
moments
thereafter
,
he
held
out
at
arm
’
s
length
,
bottom
upward
.
Nothing
fell
upon
the
ground
but
a
few
particles
of
froth
,
which
slowly
detached
themselves
from
the
rim
,
and
trickled
lazily
down
.
‘
Well
done
!
’
said
Sam
.
‘
How
do
you
find
yourself
arter
it
?
’
‘
Better
,
Sir
.
I
think
I
am
better
,
’
responded
Job
.
‘
O
’
course
you
air
,
’
said
Sam
argumentatively
.
‘
It
’
s
like
puttin
’
gas
in
a
balloon
.
I
can
see
with
the
naked
eye
that
you
gets
stouter
under
the
operation
.
Wot
do
you
say
to
another
o
’
the
same
dimensions
?
’
‘
I
would
rather
not
,
I
am
much
obliged
to
you
,
Sir
,
’
replied
Job
—
‘
much
rather
not
.
’
‘
Vell
,
then
,
wot
do
you
say
to
some
wittles
?
’
inquired
Sam
.
