“I see you feel as I do,” said Mr. Enfield. “Yes, it’s a bad story. For my man was a fellow that nobody could have to do with, a really damnable man; and the person that drew the cheque is the very pink of the proprieties, celebrated too, and (what makes it worse) one of your fellows who do what they call good. Black mail, I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose for some of the capers of his youth. Black Mail House is what I call that place with the door, in consequence. Though even that, you know, is far from explaining all,” he added; and with the words fell into a vein of musing.
From this he was recalled by Mr. Utterson asking rather suddenly (из этой задумчивости его вывел мистер Аттерсон, который довольно неожиданно спросил;
“A likely place, isn’t it (подходящее местечко, не так ли = в таком-то доме;
“And you never asked about – the place with the door (а вы не осведомлялись об этом самом доме с дверью)?” said Mr. Utterson.
“No, sir: I had a delicacy (нет, сэр, это было бы бестактным;
“A likely place, isn’t it?” returned Mr. Enfield. “But I happen to have noticed his address; he lives in some square or other.”
“And you never asked about – the place with the door?” said Mr. Utterson.
“No, sir: I had a delicacy,” was the reply. “I feel very strongly about putting questions; it partakes too much of the style of the day of judgment. You start a question, and it’s like starting a stone.