Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

In which the old Man launches forth into his favourite Theme, and relates a Story about a queer Clie

           "

           ‘Theymetontheappointednight,and,hiringahackney-coach,directedthedrivertostopatthatcorneroftheoldPancrasRoad,atwhichstandstheparishworkhouse.Bythetimetheyalightedthere,itwasquitedark;and,proceedingbythedeadwallinfrontoftheVeterinaryHospital,theyenteredasmallby-street,whichis,orwasatthattime,calledLittleCollegeStreet,andwhich,whateveritmaybenow,wasinthosedaysadesolateplaceenough,surroundedbylittleelsethanfieldsandditches.

           ‘Havingdrawnthetravelling-caphehadonhalfoverhisface,andmuffledhimselfinhiscloak,Heylingstoppedbeforethemeanest-lookinghouseinthestreet,andknockedgentlyatthedoor.Itwasatonceopenedbyawoman,whodroppedacurtseyofrecognition,andHeyling,whisperingtheofficertoremainbelow,creptgentlyupstairs,and,openingthedoorofthefrontroom,enteredatonce.

           ‘Theobjectofhissearchandhisunrelentinganimosity,nowadecrepitoldman,wasseatedatabaredealtable,onwhichstoodamiserablecandle.Hestartedontheentranceofthestranger,androsefeeblytohisfeet.

           ‘"Whatnow,whatnow?"saidtheoldman."Whatfreshmiseryisthis?Whatdoyouwanthere?"

           ‘"AwordwithYOU,"repliedHeyling.Ashespoke,heseatedhimselfattheotherendofthetable,and,throwingoffhiscloakandcap,disclosedhisfeatures.

           ‘Theoldmanseemedinstantlydeprivedofspeech.

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Roboto Lora
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