Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           Passageafterpassagedidheexplore;roomafterroomdidhepeepinto;atlength,ashewasonthepointofgivingupthesearchindespair,heopenedthedooroftheidenticalroominwhichhehadspenttheevening,andbeheldhismissingpropertyonthetable.

           Mr.Pickwickseizedthewatchintriumph,andproceededtoretracehisstepstohisbedchamber.Ifhisprogressdownwardhadbeenattendedwithdifficultiesanduncertainty,hisjourneybackwasinfinitelymoreperplexing.Rowsofdoors,garnishedwithbootsofeveryshape,make,andsize,branchedoffineverypossibledirection.Adozentimesdidhesoftlyturnthehandleofsomebedroomdoorwhichresembledhisown,whenagruffcryfromwithinof‘Whothedevil’sthat?’or‘Whatdoyouwanthere?’causedhimtostealaway,ontiptoe,withaperfectlymarvellouscelerity.Hewasreducedtothevergeofdespair,whenanopendoorattractedhisattention.Hepeepedin.Rightatlast!Therewerethetwobeds,whosesituationheperfectlyremembered,andthefirestillburning.Hiscandle,notalongonewhenhefirstreceivedit,hadflickeredawayinthedraftsofairthroughwhichhehadpassedandsankintothesocketasheclosedthedoorafterhim.‘Nomatter,’saidMr.Pickwick,‘Icanundressmyselfjustaswellbythelightofthefire.

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