Лавка древностей

Chapter 21

           There’salittlesummer-houseoverlookingtheriver,wherewemighttakeaglassofthisdeliciousliquorwithawhiffofthebesttobaccoit’sinthiscase,andoftherarestquality,tomycertainknowledgeandbeperfectlysnugandhappy,couldwepossiblycontriveit;oristhereanyveryparticularengagementthatperemptorilytakesyouanotherway,MrSwiveller,eh?’

           Asthedwarfspoke,Dick’sfacerelaxedintoacompliantsmile,andhisbrowsslowlyunbent.Bythetimehehadfinished,DickwaslookingdownatQuilpinthesameslymannerasQuilpwaslookingupathim,andthereremainednothingmoretobedonebuttosetoutforthehouseinquestion.Thistheydid,straightway.Themomenttheirbackswereturned,littleJacobthawed,andresumedhiscryingfromthepointwhereQuilphadfrozenhim.

           Thesummer-houseofwhichMrQuilphadspokenwasaruggedwoodenbox,rottenandbaretosee,whichoverhungtheriver’smud,andthreatenedtoslidedownintoit.Thetaverntowhichitbelongedwasacrazybuilding,sappedandunderminedbytherats,andonlyupheldbygreatbarsofwoodwhichwererearedagainstitswalls,andhadproppeditupsolongthateventheyweredecayingandyieldingwiththeirload,andofawindynightmightbeheardtocreakandcrackasifthewholefabricwereabouttocometopplingdown.Thehousestoodifanythingsooldandfeeblecouldbesaidtostandonapieceofwasteground,blightedwiththeunwholesomesmokeoffactorychimneys,andechoingtheclankofironwheelsandrushoftroubledwater.

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