Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A Discovery and a Chase

           Pickwick,letmego,sir!’

           Itwasabeautifulsight,inthatmomentofturmoilandconfusion,tobeholdtheplacidandphilosophicalexpressionofMr.Pickwick’sface,albeitsomewhatflushedwithexertion,ashestoodwithhisarmsfirmlyclaspedroundtheextensivewaistoftheircorpulenthost,thusrestrainingtheimpetuosityofhispassion,whilethefatboywasscratched,andpulled,andpushedfromtheroombyallthefemalescongregatedtherein.Hehadnosoonerreleasedhishold,thanthemanenteredtoannouncethatthegigwasready.

           ‘Don’tlethimgoalone!’screamedthefemales.‘He’llkillsomebody!’

           ‘I’llgowithhim,’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘You’reagoodfellow,Pickwick,’saidthehost,graspinghishand.‘Emma,giveMr.Pickwickashawltotieroundhisneckmakehaste.Lookafteryourgrandmother,girls;shehasfaintedaway.Nowthen,areyouready?’

           Mr.Pickwick’smouthandchinhavingbeenhastilyenvelopedinalargeshawl,hishathavingbeenputonhishead,andhisgreatcoatthrownoverhisarm,herepliedintheaffirmative.

           Theyjumpedintothegig.‘Giveherherhead,Tom,’criedthehost;andawaytheywent,downthenarrowlanes;joltinginandoutofthecart-ruts,andbumpingupagainstthehedgesoneitherside,asiftheywouldgotopieceseverymoment.

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