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In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to Bath; and goes accordingly

           Pickwickandhisfriendswentforshelterintothetravellers’roomthelastresourceofhumandejection.

           Thetravellers’roomattheWhiteHorseCellarisofcourseuncomfortable;itwouldbenotravellers’roomifitwerenot.Itistheright-handparlour,intowhichanaspiringkitchenfireplaceappearstohavewalked,accompaniedbyarebelliouspoker,tongs,andshovel.Itisdividedintoboxes,forthesolitaryconfinementoftravellers,andisfurnishedwithaclock,alooking-glass,andalivewaiter,whichlatterarticleiskeptinasmallkennelforwashingglasses,inacorneroftheapartment.

           Oneoftheseboxeswasoccupied,onthisparticularoccasion,byastern-eyedmanofaboutfive-and-forty,whohadabaldandglossyforehead,withagooddealofblackhairatthesidesandbackofhishead,andlargeblackwhiskers.Hewasbuttoneduptothechininabrowncoat;andhadalargesealskintravelling-cap,andagreatcoatandcloak,lyingontheseatbesidehim.HelookedupfromhisbreakfastasMr.Pickwickentered,withafierceandperemptoryair,whichwasverydignified;and,havingscrutinisedthatgentlemanandhiscompanionstohisentiresatisfaction,hummedatune,inamannerwhichseemedtosaythatherathersuspectedsomebodywantedtotakeadvantageofhim,butitwouldn’tdo.

           ‘Waiter,’saidthegentlemanwiththewhiskers.

           ‘Sir?’repliedamanwithadirtycomplexion,andatowelofthesame,emergingfromthekennelbeforementioned.

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