Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Comprising the final Exit of Mr. Jingle and Job Trotter, with a great Morning of business in Gray’s

           

           ‘Takecare,Sir,’saidDodson,who,thoughhewasthebiggestmanoftheparty,hadprudentlyentrenchedhimselfbehindFogg,andwasspeakingoverhisheadwithaverypaleface.‘Lethimassaultyou,Mr.Fogg;don’treturnitonanyaccount.’

           ‘No,no,Iwon’treturnit,’saidFogg,fallingbackalittlemoreashespoke;totheevidentreliefofhispartner,whobythesemeanswasgraduallygettingintotheouteroffice.

           ‘Youare,’continuedMr.Pickwick,resumingthethreadofhisdiscourse—‘youareawell-matchedpairofmean,rascally,pettifoggingrobbers.’

           ‘Well,’interposedPerker,‘isthatall?’

           ‘Itisallsummedupinthat,’rejoinedMr.Pickwick;‘theyaremean,rascally,pettifoggingrobbers.’

           ‘There!’saidPerker,inamostconciliatorytone.‘Mydearsirs,hehassaidallhehastosay.Nowpraygo.Lowten,isthatdooropen?’

           Mr.Lowten,withadistantgiggle,repliedintheaffirmative.

           ‘There,theregood-morninggood-morningnowpray,mydearsirsMr.Lowten,thedoor!’criedthelittleman,pushingDodson&Fogg,nothingloath,outoftheoffice;‘thisway,mydearsirsnowpraydon’tprolongthisDearmeMr.Lowtenthedoor,sirwhydon’tyouattend?’

           ‘Ifthere’slawinEngland,sir,’saidDodson,lookingtowardsMr.Pickwick,asheputonhishat,‘youshallsmartforthis.

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