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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 686/859
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‘
Don
’
t
talk
to
me
,
don
’
t
,
you
brute
,
for
fear
I
should
be
perwoked
to
forgit
my
sect
and
strike
you
!
’
said
Mrs
.
Raddle
.
While
this
dialogue
was
going
on
,
the
driver
was
most
ignominiously
leading
the
horse
,
by
the
bridle
,
up
to
the
house
with
the
red
door
,
which
Master
Bardell
had
already
opened
.
Here
was
a
mean
and
low
way
of
arriving
at
a
friend
’
s
house
!
No
dashing
up
,
with
all
the
fire
and
fury
of
the
animal
;
no
jumping
down
of
the
driver
;
no
loud
knocking
at
the
door
;
no
opening
of
the
apron
with
a
crash
at
the
very
last
moment
,
for
fear
of
the
ladies
sitting
in
a
draught
;
and
then
the
man
handing
the
shawls
out
,
afterwards
,
as
if
he
were
a
private
coachman
!
The
whole
edge
of
the
thing
had
been
taken
off
—
it
was
flatter
than
walking
.
‘
Well
,
Tommy
,
’
said
Mrs
.
Cluppins
,
‘
how
’
s
your
poor
dear
mother
?
’
‘
Oh
,
she
’
s
very
well
,
’
replied
Master
Bardell
.
‘
She
’
s
in
the
front
parlour
,
all
ready
.
I
’
m
ready
too
,
I
am
.
’
Here
Master
Bardell
put
his
hands
in
his
pockets
,
and
jumped
off
and
on
the
bottom
step
of
the
door
.
‘
Is
anybody
else
a
-
goin
’
,
Tommy
?
’
said
Mrs
.
Cluppins
,
arranging
her
pelerine
.
‘
Mrs
.
Sanders
is
going
,
she
is
,
’
replied
Tommy
;
‘
I
’
m
going
too
,
I
am
.
’
‘
Drat
the
boy
,
’
said
little
Mrs
.
Cluppins
.
‘
He
thinks
of
nobody
but
himself
.
Here
,
Tommy
,
dear
.
’
‘
Well
,
’
said
Master
Bardell
.
‘
Who
else
is
a
-
goin
’
,
lovey
?
’
said
Mrs
.
Cluppins
,
in
an
insinuating
manner
.
