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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Дэвид Копперфильд
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- Стр. 258/820
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‘
So
I
understand
,
’
said
I
.
‘
Is
Suffolk
your
county
,
sir
?
’
asked
William
.
‘
Yes
,
’
I
said
,
with
some
importance
.
‘
Suffolk
’
s
my
county
.
’
‘
I
’
m
told
the
dumplings
is
uncommon
fine
down
there
,
’
said
William
.
I
was
not
aware
of
it
myself
,
but
I
felt
it
necessary
to
uphold
the
institutions
of
my
county
,
and
to
evince
a
familiarity
with
them
;
so
I
shook
my
head
,
as
much
as
to
say
,
‘
I
believe
you
!
’
‘
And
the
Punches
,
’
said
William
.
‘
There
’
s
cattle
!
A
Suffolk
Punch
,
when
he
’
s
a
good
un
,
is
worth
his
weight
in
gold
.
Did
you
ever
breed
any
Suffolk
Punches
yourself
,
sir
?
’
‘
N
-
no
,
’
I
said
,
‘
not
exactly
.
’
‘
Here
’
s
a
gen
’
lm
’
n
behind
me
,
I
’
ll
pound
it
,
’
said
William
,
‘
as
has
bred
‘
em
by
wholesale
.
’
The
gentleman
spoken
of
was
a
gentleman
with
a
very
unpromising
squint
,
and
a
prominent
chin
,
who
had
a
tall
white
hat
on
with
a
narrow
flat
brim
,
and
whose
close
-
fitting
drab
trousers
seemed
to
button
all
the
way
up
outside
his
legs
from
his
boots
to
his
hips
.
His
chin
was
cocked
over
the
coachman
’
s
shoulder
,
so
near
to
me
,
that
his
breath
quite
tickled
the
back
of
my
head
;
and
as
I
looked
at
him
,
he
leered
at
the
leaders
with
the
eye
with
which
he
didn
’
t
squint
,
in
a
very
knowing
manner
.
‘
Ain
’
t
you
?
’
asked
William
.
