Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           

           ‘Dearme,’saidMr.Pickwick,‘Ineverknewthatbefore.’

           ‘Fact,Sir,’saidMr.Weller;‘iftheywasgen’l’m’n,you’dcall’emmisanthropes,butasitis,theyonlytakestopike-keepin’.’

           Withsuchconversation,possessingtheinestimablecharmofblendingamusementwithinstruction,didMr.Wellerbeguilethetediousnessofthejourney,duringthegreaterpartoftheday.Topicsofconversationwereneverwanting,forevenwhenanypauseoccurredinMr.Weller’sloquacity,itwasabundantlysuppliedbythedesireevincedbyMr.Magnustomakehimselfacquaintedwiththewholeofthepersonalhistoryofhisfellow-travellers,andhisloudly-expressedanxietyateverystage,respectingthesafetyandwell-beingofthetwobags,theleatherhat-box,andthebrown-paperparcel.

           InthemainstreetofIpswich,ontheleft-handsideoftheway,ashortdistanceafteryouhavepassedthroughtheopenspacefrontingtheTownHall,standsaninnknownfarandwidebytheappellationoftheGreatWhiteHorse,renderedthemoreconspicuousbyastonestatueofsomerampaciousanimalwithflowingmaneandtail,distantlyresemblinganinsanecart-horse,whichiselevatedabovetheprincipaldoor.TheGreatWhiteHorseisfamousintheneighbourhood,inthesamedegreeasaprizeox,oracounty-paper-chronicledturnip,orunwieldypigforitsenormoussize.

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