Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

An important Conference takes place between Mr. Pickwick and Samuel Weller, at which his Parent assi

           

           Asthelittleoldgentlemanutteredthiscommand,heslippedfiveshillingsintothewaiter’shand,andlookedsteadilyathim.

           ‘Really,sir,’saidthewaiter,‘Idon’tknow,sir,whether—’

           ‘Ah!you’lldoit,Isee,’saidthelittleoldgentleman.‘Youhadbetterdoitatonce.Itwillsavetime.’

           Therewassomethingsoverycoolandcollectedinthegentleman’smanner,thatthewaiterputthefiveshillingsinhispocket,andledhimupstairswithoutanotherword.

           ‘Thisistheroom,isit?’saidthegentleman.‘Youmaygo.’Thewaitercomplied,wonderingmuchwhothegentlemancouldbe,andwhathewanted;thelittleoldgentleman,waitingtillhewasoutofsight,tappedatthedoor.

           ‘Comein,’saidArabella.

           ‘Um,aprettyvoice,atanyrate,’murmuredthelittleoldgentleman;‘butthat’snothing.’Ashesaidthis,heopenedthedoorandwalkedin.Arabella,whowassittingatwork,roseonbeholdingastrangeralittleconfusedbutbynomeansungracefullyso.

           ‘Praydon’trise,ma’am,’saidtheunknown,walkingin,andclosingthedoorafterhim.‘Mrs.Winkle,Ibelieve?’

           Arabellainclinedherhead.

           ‘Mrs.NathanielWinkle,whomarriedthesonoftheoldmanatBirmingham?’saidthestranger,eyeingArabellawithvisiblecuriosity.

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