Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

The first Day’s Journey, and the first Evening’s Adventures; with their Consequences

           Pickwick,‘mustbeverygreat,andthesmellwhichpervadesthestreetsmustbeexceedinglydelicioustothosewhoareextremelyfondofsmoking.Asuperficialtravellermightobjecttothedirt,whichistheirleadingcharacteristic;buttothosewhoviewitasanindicationoftrafficandcommercialprosperity,itistrulygratifying.’

           Punctualtofiveo’clockcamethestranger,andshortlyafterwardsthedinner.Hehaddivestedhimselfofhisbrownpaperparcel,buthadmadenoalterationinhisattire,andwas,ifpossible,moreloquaciousthanever.

           ‘What’sthat?’heinquired,asthewaiterremovedoneofthecovers.

           ‘Soles,Sir.’

           ‘Solesah!capitalfishallcomefromLondon-stage-coachproprietorsgetuppoliticaldinnerscarriageofsolesdozensofbasketscunningfellows.Glassofwine,Sir.’

           ‘Withpleasure,’saidMr.Pickwick;andthestrangertookwine,firstwithhim,andthenwithMr.Snodgrass,andthenwithMr.Tupman,andthenwithMr.Winkle,andthenwiththewholepartytogether,almostasrapidlyashetalked.

           ‘Devilofamessonthestaircase,waiter,’saidthestranger.‘Formsgoingupcarpenterscomingdownlamps,glasses,harps.What’sgoingforward?’

           ‘Ball,Sir,’saidthewaiter.

           ‘Assembly,eh?’

           ‘No,Sir,notassembly,Sir.Ballforthebenefitofacharity,Sir.

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