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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 835/859
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‘
Reduced
counsels
,
I
s
’
pose
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
.
‘
Ain
’
t
they
the
reduced
counsels
,
Samivel
?
’
‘
Wy
,
you
don
’
t
suppose
the
reduced
counsels
is
alive
,
do
you
?
’
inquired
Sam
,
with
some
disdain
.
‘
How
should
I
know
?
’
retorted
Mr
.
Weller
;
‘
I
thought
they
looked
wery
like
it
.
Wot
are
they
,
then
?
’
‘
Clerks
,
’
replied
Sam
.
‘
Wot
are
they
all
a
-
eatin
’
ham
sangwidges
for
?
’
inquired
his
father
.
‘
‘
Cos
it
’
s
in
their
dooty
,
I
suppose
,
’
replied
Sam
,
‘
it
’
s
a
part
o
’
the
system
;
they
’
re
alvays
a
-
doin
’
it
here
,
all
day
long
!
’
Mr
.
Weller
and
his
friends
had
scarcely
had
a
moment
to
reflect
upon
this
singular
regulation
as
connected
with
the
monetary
system
of
the
country
,
when
they
were
rejoined
by
Pell
and
Wilkins
Flasher
,
Esquire
,
who
led
them
to
a
part
of
the
counter
above
which
was
a
round
blackboard
with
a
large
‘
W
.
’
on
it
.
‘
Wot
’
s
that
for
,
Sir
?
’
inquired
Mr
.
Weller
,
directing
Pell
’
s
attention
to
the
target
in
question
.
‘
The
first
letter
of
the
name
of
the
deceased
,
’
replied
Pell
.
‘
I
say
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
turning
round
to
the
umpires
,
there
’
s
somethin
’
wrong
here
.
We
’
s
our
letter
—
this
won
’
t
do
.
’
