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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 699/859
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Perker
nodded
and
smiled
.
Mr
.
Samuel
Weller
looked
at
the
little
lawyer
,
then
at
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
then
at
the
ceiling
,
then
at
Perker
again
;
grinned
,
laughed
outright
,
and
finally
,
catching
up
his
hat
from
the
carpet
,
without
further
explanation
,
disappeared
.
‘
What
does
this
mean
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
looking
at
Perker
with
astonishment
.
‘
What
has
put
Sam
into
this
extraordinary
state
?
’
‘
Oh
,
nothing
,
nothing
,
’
replied
Perker
.
‘
Come
,
my
dear
Sir
,
draw
up
your
chair
to
the
table
.
I
have
a
good
deal
to
say
to
you
.
’
‘
What
papers
are
those
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
as
the
little
man
deposited
on
the
table
a
small
bundle
of
documents
tied
with
red
tape
.
‘
The
papers
in
Bardell
and
Pickwick
,
’
replied
Perker
,
undoing
the
knot
with
his
teeth
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
grated
the
legs
of
his
chair
against
the
ground
;
and
throwing
himself
into
it
,
folded
his
hands
and
looked
sternly
—
if
Mr
.
Pickwick
ever
could
look
sternly
—
at
his
legal
friend
.
‘
You
don
’
t
like
to
hear
the
name
of
the
cause
?
’
said
the
little
man
,
still
busying
himself
with
the
knot
.
‘
No
,
I
do
not
indeed
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Sorry
for
that
,
’
resumed
Perker
,
‘
because
it
will
form
the
subject
of
our
conversation
.
’
