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What befell Mr. Pickwick when he got into the Fleet; what Prisoners he saw there; and how he passed

           

           ‘Justthat,Sir,’repliedSam,‘andincourseo’timehecomehereinconsekens.Itwarn’tmuchexecutionforninepoundnothin’,multipliedbyfiveforcosts;buthows’everherehestoppedforseventeenyear.Ifhegotanywrinklesinhisface,theywerestoppedupviththedirt,forboththedirtyfaceandthebrowncoatwosjustthesameattheendo’thattimeastheywosatthebeginnin’.Hewosawerypeaceful,inoffendin’littlecreetur,andwosalvaysa-bustlin’aboutforsomebody,orplayin’racketsandnevervinnin’;tillatlasttheturnkeystheygotquitefondonhim,andhewosinthelodgeev’rynight,a-chatteringvith’em,andtellin’stories,andallthat‘ere.Vunnighthewosinthereasusual,alongvithaweryoldfriendofhis,aswosonthelock,venhesaysallofasudden,"Iain’tseenthemarketoutside,Bill,"hesays(FleetMarketwosthereatthattime)—"Iain’tseenthemarketoutside,Bill,"hesays,"forseventeenyear.""Iknowyouain’t,"saystheturnkey,smokinghispipe."Ishouldliketoseeitforaminit,Bill,"hesays."Weryprobable,"saystheturnkey,smokinghispipeweryfierce,andmakingbelievehewarn’tuptowotthelittlemanwanted."Bill,"saysthelittleman,moreabruptthanafore,"I’vegotthefancyinmyhead.LetmeseethepublicstreetsoncemoreaforeIdie;andifIain’tstruckwithapoplexy,I’llbebackinfiveminitsbytheclock.

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