Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

An important Conference takes place between Mr. Pickwick and Samuel Weller, at which his Parent assi

           

           Thislittlecompliment,orthelittlegentleman’soddwayofpayingit,orhisalteredmannersomuchkinderthanitwas,atfirstorallthreetogether,forcedasmilefromArabellainthemidstofhertears.

           ‘Where’syourhusband?’inquiredtheoldgentleman,abruptly;stoppingasmilewhichwasjustcomingoverhisownface.

           ‘Iexpecthimeveryinstant,sir,’saidArabella.‘Ipersuadedhimtotakeawalkthismorning.Heisverylowandwretchedatnothavingheardfromhisfather.’

           ‘Low,ishe?’saidtheoldgentlemen.‘Servehimright!’

           ‘Hefeelsitonmyaccount,Iamafraid,’saidArabella;‘andindeed,Sir,Ifeelitdeeplyonhis.Ihavebeenthesolemeansofbringinghimtohispresentcondition.’

           ‘Don’tminditonhisaccount,mydear,’saidtheoldgentleman.‘Itserveshimright.Iamgladofitactuallygladofit,asfarasheisconcerned.’

           Thewordswerescarcelyoutoftheoldgentleman’slips,whenfootstepswereheardascendingthestairs,whichheandArabellaseemedbothtorecogniseatthesamemoment.Thelittlegentlemanturnedpale;and,makingastrongefforttoappearcomposed,stoodup,asMr.Winkleenteredtheroom.

           ‘Father!’criedMr.Winkle,recoilinginamazement.

           ‘Yes,sir,’repliedthelittleoldgentleman.‘Well,Sir,whathaveyougottosaytome?’

           Mr.Winkleremainedsilent.

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