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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 838/859
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Mr
.
Pickwick
had
been
so
absorbed
in
these
reflections
,
that
a
knock
at
the
door
was
three
or
four
times
repeated
before
he
heard
it
.
Hastily
seating
himself
,
and
calling
up
his
accustomed
pleasant
looks
,
he
gave
the
required
permission
,
and
Sam
Weller
entered
,
followed
by
his
father
.
‘
Glad
to
see
you
back
again
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
How
do
you
do
,
Mr
.
Weller
?
’
‘
Wery
hearty
,
thank
’
ee
,
sir
,
’
replied
the
widower
;
‘
hope
I
see
you
well
,
sir
.
’
‘
Quite
,
I
thank
you
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
I
wanted
to
have
a
little
bit
o
’
conwersation
with
you
,
sir
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
‘
if
you
could
spare
me
five
minits
or
so
,
sir
.
’
‘
Certainly
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Sam
,
give
your
father
a
chair
.
’
‘
Thank
’
ee
,
Samivel
,
I
’
ve
got
a
cheer
here
,
’
said
Mr
.
Weller
,
bringing
one
forward
as
he
spoke
;
‘
uncommon
fine
day
it
’
s
been
,
sir
,
’
added
the
old
gentleman
,
laying
his
hat
on
the
floor
as
he
sat
himself
down
.
‘
Remarkably
so
,
indeed
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Very
seasonable
.
’
‘
Seasonablest
veather
I
ever
see
,
sir
,
’
rejoined
Mr
.
Weller
.
Here
,
the
old
gentleman
was
seized
with
a
violent
fit
of
coughing
,
which
,
being
terminated
,
he
nodded
his
head
and
winked
and
made
several
supplicatory
and
threatening
gestures
to
his
son
,
all
of
which
Sam
Weller
steadily
abstained
from
seeing
.
