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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 816/859
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‘
My
sister
!
’
exclaimed
Mr
.
Benjamin
Allen
,
folding
her
in
a
most
romantic
embrace
.
‘
Oh
,
Ben
,
dear
,
how
you
do
smell
of
tobacco
,
’
said
Arabella
,
rather
overcome
by
this
mark
of
affection
.
‘
Do
I
?
’
said
Mr
.
Benjamin
Allen
.
‘
Do
I
,
Bella
?
Well
,
perhaps
I
do
.
’
Perhaps
he
did
,
having
just
left
a
pleasant
little
smoking
-
party
of
twelve
medical
students
,
in
a
small
back
parlour
with
a
large
fire
.
‘
But
I
am
delighted
to
see
you
,
’
said
Mr
.
Ben
Allen
.
‘
Bless
you
,
Bella
!
’
‘
There
,
’
said
Arabella
,
bending
forward
to
kiss
her
brother
;
‘
don
’
t
take
hold
of
me
again
,
Ben
,
dear
,
because
you
tumble
me
so
.
’
At
this
point
of
the
reconciliation
,
Mr
.
Ben
Allen
allowed
his
feelings
and
the
cigars
and
porter
to
overcome
him
,
and
looked
round
upon
the
beholders
with
damp
spectacles
.
‘
is
nothing
to
be
said
to
me
?
’
cried
Wardle
,
with
open
arms
.
‘
A
great
deal
,
’
whispered
Arabella
,
as
she
received
the
old
gentleman
’
s
hearty
caress
and
congratulation
.
‘
You
are
a
hard
-
hearted
,
unfeeling
,
cruel
monster
.
’
