Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A pleasant Day with an unpleasant Termination

           Theysearchedeverynookandcornerround,togetherandseparately;theyshouted,whistled,laughed,calledandallwiththesameresult.Mr.Pickwickwasnottobefound.Aftersomehoursoffruitlesssearch,theyarrivedattheunwelcomeconclusionthattheymustgohomewithouthim.

           MeanwhileMr.Pickwickhadbeenwheeledtothepound,andsafelydepositedtherein,fastasleepinthewheel-barrow,totheimmeasurabledelightandsatisfactionnotonlyofalltheboysinthevillage,butthree-fourthsofthewholepopulation,whohadgatheredround,inexpectationofhiswaking.Iftheirmostintensegratificationhadbeenawakenedbyseeinghimwheeledin,howmanyhundredfoldwastheirjoyincreasedwhen,afterafewindistinctcriesof‘Sam!’hesatupinthebarrow,andgazedwithindescribableastonishmentonthefacesbeforehim.

           Ageneralshoutwasofcoursethesignalofhishavingwokeup;andhisinvoluntaryinquiryof‘What’sthematter?’occasionedanother,louderthanthefirst,ifpossible.

           ‘Here’sagame!’roaredthepopulace.

           ‘WhereamI?’exclaimedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Inthepound,’repliedthemob.

           ‘HowcameIhere?WhatwasIdoing?WherewasIbroughtfrom?’‘Boldwig!CaptainBoldwig!’wastheonlyreply.

           ‘Letmeout,’criedMr.Pickwick.‘Where’smyservant?Wherearemyfriends?’

           ‘Youain’tgotnofriends.

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