Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

In which Mr. Samuel Weller begins to devote his Energies to the Return Match between himself and Mr.

           

           ‘Ah,andaweryamiablechandleryou’llmake,’repliedSam,eyeingJobwithasidelookofintensedislike.

           ‘Thegreatadvantageofthis,Mr.Weller,’continuedJob,hiseyesfillingwithtearsashespoke,‘willbe,thatIshallbeabletoleavemypresentdisgracefulservicewiththatbadman,andtodevotemyselftoabetterandmorevirtuouslife;morelikethewayinwhichIwasbroughtup,Mr.Weller.’

           ‘Youmustha’beenwerynicelybroughtup,’saidSam.

           ‘Oh,very,Mr.Weller,very,’repliedJob.Attherecollectionofthepurityofhisyouthfuldays,Mr.Trotterpulledforththepinkhandkerchief,andweptcopiously.

           ‘Youmustha’beenanuncommonniceboy,togotoschoolvith,’saidSam.

           ‘Iwas,sir,’repliedJob,heavingadeepsigh;‘Iwastheidoloftheplace.’

           ‘Ah,’saidSam,‘Idon’twonderatit.Whatacomfortyoumustha’beentoyourblessedmother.’

           Atthesewords,Mr.JobTrotterinsertedanendofthepinkhandkerchiefintothecornerofeacheye,oneaftertheother,andbegantoweepcopiously.

           ‘Wot’sthematterwiththeman,’saidSam,indignantly.‘Chelseawater-worksisnothin’toyou.Whatareyoumeltingvithnow?Theconsciousnesso’willainy?’

           ‘Icannotkeepmyfeelingsdown,Mr.Weller,’saidJob,afterashortpause.

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