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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 741/859
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During
this
short
interchange
of
sentiments
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
had
,
in
an
abstracted
mood
,
uncorked
the
bottle
.
‘
What
is
it
?
’
inquired
Ben
Allen
carelessly
.
‘
I
don
’
t
know
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
with
equal
carelessness
.
‘
It
smells
,
I
think
,
like
milk
-
punch
.
’
‘
Oh
,
indeed
?
’
said
Ben
.
‘
I
THINK
so
,
’
rejoined
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
very
properly
guarding
himself
against
the
possibility
of
stating
an
untruth
;
‘
mind
,
I
could
not
undertake
to
say
certainly
,
without
tasting
it
.
’
‘
You
had
better
do
so
,
’
said
Ben
;
‘
we
may
as
well
know
what
it
is
.
’
‘
Do
you
think
so
?
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Well
;
if
you
are
curious
to
know
,
of
course
I
have
no
objection
.
’
Ever
willing
to
sacrifice
his
own
feelings
to
the
wishes
of
his
friend
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
at
once
took
a
pretty
long
taste
.
‘
What
is
it
?
’
inquired
Ben
Allen
,
interrupting
him
with
some
impatience
.
‘
Curious
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
smacking
his
lips
,
‘
I
hardly
know
,
now
.
Oh
,
yes
!
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
after
a
second
taste
.
‘
It
IS
punch
.
’
