Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A pleasant Day with an unpleasant Termination

           Ifitapplyinanequaldegreetoshot,thoseofMr.Winklewereunfortunatefoundlings,deprivedoftheirnaturalrights,castlooseupontheworld,andbilletednowhere.‘Well,’saidWardle,walkinguptothesideofthebarrow,andwipingthestreamsofperspirationfromhisjollyredface;‘smokingday,isn’tit?’

           ‘Itis,indeed,’repliedMr.Pickwick.Thesunistremendouslyhot,eventome.Idon’tknowhowyoumustfeelit.’

           ‘Why,’saidtheoldgentleman,‘prettyhot.It’spasttwelve,though.Youseethatgreenhillthere?’

           ‘Certainly.’

           ‘That’stheplacewherewearetolunch;and,byJove,there’stheboywiththebasket,punctualasclockwork!’

           ‘Soheis,’saidMr.Pickwick,brighteningup.‘Goodboy,that.I’llgivehimashilling,presently.Now,then,Sam,wheelaway.’

           ‘Holdon,sir,’saidMr.Weller,invigoratedwiththeprospectofrefreshments.‘Outofthevay,youngleathers.Ifyouwalleymypreciouslifedon’tupsetme,asthegen’l’m’nsaidtothedriverwhentheywasa-carryin’himtoTyburn.’Andquickeninghispacetoasharprun,Mr.Wellerwheeledhismasternimblytothegreenhill,shothimdexterouslyoutbytheverysideofthebasket,andproceededtounpackitwiththeutmostdespatch.

           ‘Wealpie,’saidMr.Weller,soliloquising,ashearrangedtheeatablesonthegrass.

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