Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           

           inanopenbarouche,thehorsesofwhichhadbeentakenout,thebettertoaccommodateittothecrowdedplace,stoodastoutoldgentleman,inabluecoatandbrightbuttons,corduroybreechesandtop-boots,twoyoungladiesinscarfsandfeathers,ayounggentlemanapparentlyenamouredofoneoftheyoungladiesinscarfsandfeathers,aladyofdoubtfulage,probablytheauntoftheaforesaid,andMr.Tupman,aseasyandunconcernedasifhehadbelongedtothefamilyfromthefirstmomentsofhisinfancy.Fastenedupbehindthebarouchewasahamperofspaciousdimensionsoneofthosehamperswhichalwaysawakensinacontemplativemindassociationsconnectedwithcoldfowls,tongues,andbottlesofwineandontheboxsatafatandred-facedboy,inastateofsomnolency,whomnospeculativeobservercouldhaveregardedforaninstantwithoutsettingdownastheofficialdispenserofthecontentsofthebefore-mentionedhamper,whenthepropertimefortheirconsumptionshouldarrive.

           Mr.Pickwickhadbestowedahastyglanceontheseinterestingobjects,whenhewasagaingreetedbyhisfaithfuldisciple.

           ‘PickwickPickwick,’saidMr.Tupman;‘comeuphere.Makehaste.’

           ‘Comealong,Sir.Pray,comeup,’saidthestoutgentleman.‘Joe!damnthatboy,he’sgonetosleepagain.Joe,letdownthesteps.’Thefatboyrolledslowlyoffthebox,letdownthesteps,andheldthecarriagedoorinvitinglyopen.Mr.SnodgrassandMr.Winklecameupatthemoment.

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