Холодный дом

Mr. Bucket

           Snagsbydrinksandmurmurswithanadmiringcoughbehindhishand,"Dearme,veryfinewineindeed!""Thereforeyoukeptyourvisittoyourselflastnight?"saysMr.Tulkinghorn."Andto-nighttoo?""Yes,sir,andto-night,too.Mylittlewomanisatpresentinnottoputtoofineapointonitinapiousstate,orinwhatsheconsiderssuch,andattendstheEveningExertions(whichisthenametheygoby)ofareverendpartyofthenameofChadband.Hehasagreatdealofeloquenceathiscommand,undoubtedly,butIamnotquitefavourabletohisstylemyself.That’sneitherherenorthere.Mylittlewomanbeingengagedinthatwaymadeiteasierformetosteproundinaquietmanner."Mr.Tulkinghornassents."Fillyourglass,Snagsby.""Thankyou,sir,Iamsure,"returnsthestationerwithhiscoughofdeference."Thisiswonderfullyfinewine,sir!""Itisararewinenow,"saysMr.Tulkinghorn."Itisfiftyyearsold.""Isitindeed,sir?ButIamnotsurprisedtohearit,Iamsure.Itmightbeanyagealmost."Afterrenderingthisgeneraltributetotheport,Mr.Snagsbyinhismodestycoughsanapologybehindhishandfordrinkinganythingsoprecious."Willyourunover,onceagain,whattheboysaid?"asksMr.Tulkinghorn,puttinghishandsintothepocketsofhisrustysmallclothesandleaningquietlybackinhischair."Withpleasure,sir."Then,withfidelity,thoughwithsomeprolixity,thelaw-stationerrepeatsJo’sstatementmadetotheassembledguestsathishouse.

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