Граф Монте-Кристо

The House of Morrel & Son.

           "

           Penelonrolledhisquidinhischeek,placedhishandbeforehismouth,turnedhishead,andsentalongjetoftobacco-juiceintotheantechamber,advancedhisfoot,balancedhimself,andbegan"Yousee,M.Morrel,"saidhe,"weweresomewherebetweenCapeBlancandCapeBoyador,sailingwithafairbreeze,south-south-westafteraweek’scalm,whenCaptainGaumardcomesuptomeIwasatthehelmIshouldtellyouandsays,‘Penelon,whatdoyouthinkofthosecloudscomingupoverthere?’Iwasjustthenlookingatthemmyself.‘WhatdoIthink,captain?WhyIthinkthattheyarerisingfasterthantheyhaveanybusinesstodo,andthattheywouldnotbesoblackiftheydidn’tmeanmischief.’—‘That’smyopiniontoo,’saidthecaptain,‘andI’lltakeprecautionsaccordingly.Wearecarryingtoomuchcanvas.Avast,there,allhands!Takeinthestudding-sl’sandstowtheflyingjib.’Itwastime;thesquallwasonus,andthevesselbegantoheel.‘Ah,’saidthecaptain,‘wehavestilltoomuchcanvasset;allhandslowerthemains’l!’Fiveminutesafter,itwasdown;andwesailedundermizzen-tops’lsandto’gall’ntsails.‘Well,Penelon,’saidthecaptain,‘whatmakesyoushakeyourhead?’‘Why,’Isays,‘Istillthinkyou’vegottoomuchon.’‘Ithinkyou’reright,’answeredhe,‘weshallhaveagale.’‘Agale?Morethanthat,weshallhaveatempest,orIdon’tknowwhat’swhat.

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