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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 112/859
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‘
Certainly
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
;
and
down
they
sat
.
There
was
a
gigantic
round
of
cold
beef
on
the
table
,
and
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
supplied
with
a
plentiful
portion
of
it
.
He
had
raised
his
fork
to
his
lips
,
and
was
on
the
very
point
of
opening
his
mouth
for
the
reception
of
a
piece
of
beef
,
when
the
hum
of
many
voices
suddenly
arose
in
the
kitchen
.
He
paused
,
and
laid
down
his
fork
.
Mr
.
Wardle
paused
too
,
and
insensibly
released
his
hold
of
the
carving
-
knife
,
which
remained
inserted
in
the
beef
.
He
looked
at
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
looked
at
him
.
Heavy
footsteps
were
heard
in
the
passage
;
the
parlour
door
was
suddenly
burst
open
;
and
the
man
who
had
cleaned
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
boots
on
his
first
arrival
,
rushed
into
the
room
,
followed
by
the
fat
boy
and
all
the
domestics
.
‘
What
the
devil
’
s
the
meaning
of
this
?
’
exclaimed
the
host
.
‘
The
kitchen
chimney
ain
’
t
a
-
fire
,
is
it
,
Emma
?
’
inquired
the
old
lady
.
‘
Lor
,
grandma
!
No
,
’
screamed
both
the
young
ladies
.
‘
What
’
s
the
matter
?
’
roared
the
master
of
the
house
.
The
man
gasped
for
breath
,
and
faintly
ejaculated
—
‘
They
ha
’
gone
,
mas
’
r
!
—
gone
right
clean
off
,
Sir
!
’
(
At
this
juncture
Mr
.
Tupman
was
observed
to
lay
down
his
knife
and
fork
,
and
to
turn
very
pale
.
)
‘
Who
’
s
gone
?
’
said
Mr
.
Wardle
fiercely
.
‘
Mus
’
r
Jingle
and
Miss
Rachael
,
in
a
po
’
-
chay
,
from
Blue
Lion
,
Muggleton
.
I
was
there
;
but
I
couldn
’
t
stop
’
em
;
so
I
run
off
to
tell
‘
ee
.
’
