Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A Field Day and Bivouac — More new Friends — An Invitation to the Country

           Whenhewasatlastenabledtostandfirmlyonhislegs,hisgratificationanddelightwereunbounded.

           ‘Cananythingbefinerormoredelightful?’heinquiredofMr.Winkle.

           ‘Nothing,’repliedthatgentleman,whohadhadashortmanstandingoneachofhisfeetforthequarterofanhourimmediatelypreceding.‘Itisindeedanobleandabrilliantsight,’saidMr.Snodgrass,inwhosebosomablazeofpoetrywasrapidlyburstingforth,‘toseethegallantdefendersoftheircountrydrawnupinbrilliantarraybeforeitspeacefulcitizens;theirfacesbeamingnotwithwarlikeferocity,butwithcivilisedgentleness;theireyesflashingnotwiththerudefireofrapineorrevenge,butwiththesoftlightofhumanityandintelligence.’

           Mr.Pickwickfullyenteredintothespiritofthiseulogium,buthecouldnotexactlyre-echoitsterms;forthesoftlightofintelligenceburnedratherfeeblyintheeyesofthewarriors,inasmuchasthecommand‘eyesfront’hadbeengiven,andallthespectatorsawbeforehimwasseveralthousandpairofoptics,staringstraightforward,whollydivestedofanyexpressionwhatever.

           ‘Weareinacapitalsituationnow,’saidMr.Pickwick,lookingroundhim.Thecrowdhadgraduallydispersedintheirimmediatevicinity,andtheywerenearlyalone.

           ‘Capital!’echoedbothMr.SnodgrassandMr.Winkle.

           ‘Whataretheydoingnow?’inquiredMr.Pickwick,adjustinghisspectacles.

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