Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Treats of divers little Matters which occurred in the Fleet, and of Mr. Winkle’s mysterious Behaviou

           

           ‘Thankyou,’saidMr.Pickwick.‘Willyoutakeaglassofwine?’

           ‘You’rewerygood,Sir,’repliedMr.Roker,acceptingtheprofferedglass.‘Yours,sir.’

           ‘Thankyou,’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘I’msorrytosaythatyourlandlord’swerybadto-night,Sir,’saidRoker,settingdowntheglass,andinspectingtheliningofhishatpreparatorytoputtingitonagain.

           ‘What!TheChanceryprisoner!’exclaimedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Hewon’tbeaChanceryprisonerwerylong,Sir,’repliedRoker,turninghishatround,soastogetthemaker’snamerightsideupwards,ashelookedintoit.

           ‘Youmakemybloodruncold,’saidMr.Pickwick.‘Whatdoyoumean?’

           ‘He’sbeenconsumptiveforalongtimepast,’saidMr.Roker,‘andhe’stakenwerybadinthebreathto-night.Thedoctorsaid,sixmonthsago,thatnothingbutchangeofaircouldsavehim.’

           ‘GreatHeaven!’exclaimedMr.Pickwick;‘hasthismanbeenslowlymurderedbythelawforsixmonths?’

           ‘Idon’tknowaboutthat,’repliedRoker,weighingthehatbythebriminbothhands.‘Isupposehe’dhavebeentookthesame,whereverhewas.Hewentintotheinfirmary,thismorning;thedoctorsayshisstrengthistobekeptupasmuchaspossible;andthewarden’ssenthimwineandbrothandthat,fromhisownhouse.It’snotthewarden’sfault,youknow,sir.

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