Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Mr. Pickwick journeys to Ipswich and meets with a romantic Adventure with a middle-aged Lady in yell

           Presentlyhepullsupagain,andlookin’weryhardatme,says,"Whereisthesinner;whereisthemis’rablesinner?"andallthewomengroansagain,tentimeslouderthanafore.Igotrathersavageatthis,soItakesasteportwofor’ardandsays,"Myfriend,"saysI,"didyouapplythat‘ereobserwationtome?"‘Steadofbeggin’mypardonasanygen’l’m’nwouldha’done,hegotmoreabusivethanever:—calledmeawessel,Sammyawesselofwrathandallsortso’names.Somybloodbeingreg’larlyup,Ifirstgavehimtwoorthreeforhimself,andthentwoorthreemoretohandovertothemanwiththerednose,andwalkedoff.Iwishyoucouldha’heardhowthewomenscreamed,Sammy,ventheypickeduptheshepherdfromunderneaththetableHollo!here’sthegovernor,thesizeoflife.’

           AsMr.Wellerspoke,Mr.Pickwickdismountedfromacab,andenteredtheyard.‘Finemornin’,Sir,’saidMr.Weller,senior.

           ‘Beautifulindeed,’repliedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Beautifulindeed,’echoesared-hairedmanwithaninquisitivenoseandgreenspectacles,whohadunpackedhimselffromacabatthesamemomentasMr.Pickwick.‘GoingtoIpswich,Sir?’

           ‘Iam,’repliedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Extraordinarycoincidence.SoamI.’

           Mr.Pickwickbowed.

           ‘Goingoutside?’saidthered-hairedman.Mr.Pickwickbowedagain.

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