Холодный дом

The Appointed Time

           Snagsbyhauntswhatseemstobeitsfountain-headtheragandbottleshopinthecourt.Ithasanirresistibleattractionforhim.Evennow,comingroundbytheSol’sArmswiththeintentionofpassingdownthecourt,andoutattheChanceryLaneend,andsoterminatinghisunpremeditatedafter-supperstrolloftenminutes’longfromhisowndoorandbackagain,Mr.Snagsbyapproaches."What,Mr.Weevle?"saysthestationer,stoppingtospeak."AreYOUthere?""Aye!"saysWeevle,"HereIam,Mr.Snagsby.""Airingyourself,asIamdoing,beforeyougotobed?"thestationerinquires."Why,there’snotmuchairtobegothere;andwhatthereis,isnotveryfreshening,"Weevleanswers,glancingupanddownthecourt."Verytrue,sir.Don’tyouobserve,"saysMr.Snagsby,pausingtosniffandtastetheairalittle,"don’tyouobserve,Mr.Weevle,thatyou’renottoputtoofineapointuponitthatyou’rerathergreasyhere,sir?""Why,Ihavenoticedmyselfthatthereisaqueerkindofflavourintheplaceto-night,"Mr.Weevlerejoins."Isupposeit’schopsattheSol’sArms.""Chops,doyouthink?Oh!Chops,eh?"Mr.Snagsbysniffsandtastesagain."Well,sir,Isupposeitis.ButIshouldsaytheircookattheSolwantedalittlelookingafter.Shehasbeenburning’em,sir!AndIdon’tthink"Mr.Snagsbysniffsandtastesagainandthenspitsandwipeshismouth"Idon’tthinknottoputtoofineapointuponitthattheywerequitefreshwhentheywereshownthegridiron.""That’sverylikely.It’sataintingsortofweather.""ItISataintingsortofweather,"saysMr.

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