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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 703/859
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‘
I
can
’
t
see
any
lady
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
whose
mind
was
filled
with
visions
of
Mrs
.
Bardell
.
‘
I
wouldn
’
t
make
too
sure
o
’
that
,
Sir
,
’
urged
Mr
.
Weller
,
shaking
his
head
.
‘
If
you
know
’
d
who
was
near
,
sir
,
I
rayther
think
you
’
d
change
your
note
;
as
the
hawk
remarked
to
himself
vith
a
cheerful
laugh
,
ven
he
heerd
the
robin
-
redbreast
a
-
singin
’
round
the
corner
.
’
‘
Who
is
it
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Will
you
see
her
,
Sir
?
’
asked
Mr
.
Weller
,
holding
the
door
in
his
hand
as
if
he
had
some
curious
live
animal
on
the
other
side
.
‘
I
suppose
I
must
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
looking
at
Perker
.
‘
Well
then
,
all
in
to
begin
!
’
cried
Sam
.
‘
Sound
the
gong
,
draw
up
the
curtain
,
and
enter
the
two
conspiraytors
.
’
As
Sam
Weller
spoke
,
he
threw
the
door
open
,
and
there
rushed
tumultuously
into
the
room
,
Mr
.
Nathaniel
Winkle
,
leading
after
him
by
the
hand
,
the
identical
young
lady
who
at
Dingley
Dell
had
worn
the
boots
with
the
fur
round
the
tops
,
and
who
,
now
a
very
pleasing
compound
of
blushes
and
confusion
,
and
lilac
silk
,
and
a
smart
bonnet
,
and
a
rich
lace
veil
,
looked
prettier
than
ever
.
‘
Miss
Arabella
Allen
!
’
exclaimed
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
rising
from
his
chair
.
‘
No
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Winkle
,
dropping
on
his
knees
.
‘
Mrs
.
Winkle
.
Pardon
,
my
dear
friend
,
pardon
!
’
Mr
.
