-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
-
- Стр. 768/859
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Awed
by
these
threats
,
and
quite
out
of
breath
,
the
INDEPENDENT
suffered
himself
to
be
disarmed
;
and
Mr
.
Weller
,
removing
the
extinguisher
from
Pott
,
set
him
free
with
a
caution
.
‘
You
take
yourselves
off
to
bed
quietly
,
’
said
Sam
,
‘
or
I
’
ll
put
you
both
in
it
,
and
let
you
fight
it
out
vith
the
mouth
tied
,
as
I
vould
a
dozen
sich
,
if
they
played
these
games
.
And
you
have
the
goodness
to
come
this
here
way
,
sir
,
if
you
please
.
’
Thus
addressing
his
master
,
Sam
took
him
by
the
arm
,
and
led
him
off
,
while
the
rival
editors
were
severally
removed
to
their
beds
by
the
landlord
,
under
the
inspection
of
Mr
.
Bob
Sawyer
and
Mr
.
Benjamin
Allen
;
breathing
,
as
they
went
away
,
many
sanguinary
threats
,
and
making
vague
appointments
for
mortal
combat
next
day
When
they
came
to
think
it
over
,
however
,
it
occurred
to
them
that
they
could
do
it
much
better
in
print
,
so
they
recommenced
deadly
hostilities
without
delay
;
and
all
Eatanswill
rung
with
their
boldness
—
on
paper
.
They
had
taken
themselves
off
in
separate
coaches
,
early
next
morning
,
before
the
other
travellers
were
stirring
;
and
the
weather
having
now
cleared
up
,
the
chaise
companions
once
more
turned
their
faces
to
London
.
Considering
it
a
matter
of
delicacy
to
abstain
from
introducing
either
Bob
Sawyer
or
Ben
Allen
to
the
young
couple
,
until
they
were
fully
prepared
to
expect
them
,
and
wishing
to
spare
Arabella
’
s
feelings
as
much
as
possible
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
proposed
that
he
and
Sam
should
alight
in
the
neighbourhood
of
the
George
and
Vulture
,
and
that
the
two
young
men
should
for
the
present
take
up
their
quarters
elsewhere
.
To
this
they
very
readily
agreed
,
and
the
proposition
was
accordingly
acted
upon
;
Mr
.
Ben
Allen
and
Mr
.
Bob
Sawyer
betaking
themselves
to
a
sequestered
pot
-
shop
on
the
remotest
confines
of
the
Borough
,
behind
the
bar
door
of
which
their
names
had
in
other
days
very
often
appeared
at
the
head
of
long
and
complex
calculations
worked
in
white
chalk
.
‘
Dear
me
,
Mr
.
Weller
,
’
said
the
pretty
housemaid
,
meeting
Sam
at
the
door
.
‘
Dear
ME
I
vish
it
vos
,
my
dear
,
’
replied
Sam
,
dropping
behind
,
to
let
his
master
get
out
of
hearing
.
‘
Wot
a
sweet
-
lookin
’
creetur
you
are
,
Mary
!
’
‘
Lot
,
Mr
.
Weller
,
what
nonsense
you
do
talk
!
’
said
Mary
.
‘
Oh
!
don
’
t
,
Mr
.
Weller
.
"
‘
Don
’
t
what
,
my
dear
?
’
said
Sam
.
