Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Strongly illustrative of the Position, that the Course of True Love is not a Railway

           Thespinsteraunttrembled,tillsomepebbleswhichhadaccidentallyfoundtheirwayintothelargewatering-potshooklikeaninfant’srattle.

           ‘MissWardle,’saidMr.Tupman,‘youareanangel.’

           ‘Mr.Tupman!’exclaimedRachael,blushingasredasthewatering-potitself.

           ‘Nay,’saidtheeloquentPickwickian—‘Iknowitbuttoowell.’

           ‘Allwomenareangels,theysay,’murmuredtheladyplayfully.

           ‘Thenwhatcanyoube;ortowhat,withoutpresumption,canIcompareyou?’repliedMr.Tupman.‘Wherewasthewomaneverseenwhoresembledyou?WhereelsecouldIhopetofindsorareacombinationofexcellenceandbeauty?WhereelsecouldIseektoOh!’HereMr.Tupmanpaused,andpressedthehandwhichclaspedthehandleofthehappywatering-pot.

           Theladyturnedasideherhead.‘Menaresuchdeceivers,’shesoftlywhispered.

           ‘Theyare,theyare,’ejaculatedMr.Tupman;‘butnotallmen.Therelivesatleastonebeingwhocanneverchangeonebeingwhowouldbecontenttodevotehiswholeexistencetoyourhappinesswholivesbutinyoureyeswhobreathesbutinyoursmileswhobearstheheavyburdenoflifeitselfonlyforyou.’

           ‘Couldsuchanindividualbefound—’saidthelady.

           ‘ButheCANbefound,’saidtheardentMr.Tupman,interposing.‘HeISfound.Heishere,MissWardle.

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