Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           

           ‘Yes;Ialwaysamratherabouttheselittlematters,’saidthestranger,‘butIamallrightnowquiteright.’

           ‘Well,that’sablessin’,saidMr.Weller.‘Sammy,helpyourmasteruptothebox;t’otherleg,Sir,that’sit;giveusyourhand,Sir.Upwithyou.Youwasalighterweightwhenyouwasaboy,sir.’‘Trueenough,that,Mr.Weller,’saidthebreathlessMr.Pickwickgood-humouredly,ashetookhisseatontheboxbesidehim.

           ‘Jumpupinfront,Sammy,’saidMr.Weller.‘NowVillam,run’emout.Takecareo’thearchvay,gen’l’m’n."Heads,"asthepiemansays.That’lldo,Villam.Let’emalone.’AndawaywentthecoachupWhitechapel,totheadmirationofthewholepopulationofthatprettydenselypopulatedquarter.

           ‘Notaweryniceneighbourhood,this,Sir,’saidSam,withatouchofthehat,whichalwaysprecededhisenteringintoconversationwithhismaster.

           ‘Itisnotindeed,Sam,’repliedMr.Pickwick,surveyingthecrowdedandfilthystreetthroughwhichtheywerepassing.

           ‘It’saweryremarkablecircumstance,Sir,’saidSam,‘thatpovertyandoystersalwaysseemtogotogether.’

           ‘Idon’tunderstandyou,Sam,’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘WhatImean,sir,’saidSam,‘is,thatthepooreraplaceis,thegreatercallthereseemstobeforoysters.Lookhere,sir;here’saoyster-stalltoeveryhalf-dozenhouses.

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