Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Samuel Weller makes a Pilgrimage to Dorking, and beholds his Mother-in-law

           Welleradvancingtowardshim,heappearedtorelinquishthatintention,andabruptlybadehimgood-night.

           Samwasupbetimesnextday,andhavingpartakenofahastybreakfast,preparedtoreturntoLondon.Hehadscarcelysetfootwithoutthehouse,whenhisfatherstoodbeforehim.

           ‘Goin’,Sammy?’inquiredMr.Weller.

           ‘Offatonce,’repliedSam.

           ‘Ivishyoucouldmufflethat‘ereStiggins,andtakehimvithyou,’saidMr.Weller.

           ‘Iamashamedonyou!’saidSamreproachfully;‘whatdoyoulethimshowhisrednoseintheMarkiso’Granbyatall,for?’

           Mr.Wellertheelderfixedonhissonanearnestlook,andreplied,‘‘CauseI’mamarriedman,Samivel,‘causeI’mamarriedman.Venyou’reamarriedman,Samivel,you’llunderstandagoodmanythingsasyoudon’tunderstandnow;butvetherit’sworthwhilegoin’throughsomuch,tolearnsolittle,asthecharity-boysaidvenhegottotheendofthealphabet,isamattero’taste.Iraytherthinkitisn’t.’‘Well,’saidSam,‘good-bye.’

           ‘Tar,tar,Sammy,’repliedhisfather.

           ‘I’veonlygottosaythishere,’saidSam,stoppingshort,‘thatifIwastheproperiatoro’theMarkiso’Granby,andthat‘ereStigginscameandmadetoastinmybar,I’d

           ‘What?’interposedMr.Weller,withgreatanxiety

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