about [ǝ’baʊt] prep о; вокруг
“Take notice, guard – he tried to murder me,” were his first words.
“Tried to murder him?” said my convict, disdainfully. “Try, and not do it? I took him; that’s all, I dragged him here. He’s a gentleman, if you please, this villain. Now, the Hulks has got its gentleman again, through me!”
The other one still gasped,
“He tried – he tried to – murder me.”
“Look here!” said my convict to the sergeant. “I tried to kill him? No, no, no.”
The other fugitive, who was evidently in extreme horror of his companion, repeated,
“He tried to murder me!”
“He lies!” said my convict, with fierce energy.
Uncle Pumblechook, a large middle-aged slow man, with dull staring eyes, and sandy hair
“Answer him one question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly!”
My sister was tall and bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron. It was fastened over her figure behind with two loops.
Joe Gargery was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth face, and with blue eyes. He was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow. And he was very strong.
He was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow. And he was very strong.
I was dreadfully frightened.
