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

           Havingsatisfiedhimself,bymathematicalcalculation,thattheapartmentwasaboutequalinannualvaluetothefreeholdofasmallstreetinthesuburbsofLondon,hetooktowonderingwhatpossibletemptationcouldhaveinducedadingy-lookingflythatwascrawlingoverhispantaloons,tocomeintoacloseprison,whenhehadthechoiceofsomanyairysituationsacourseofmeditationwhichledhimtotheirresistibleconclusionthattheinsectwasinsane.Aftersettlingthispoint,hebegantobeconsciousthathewasgettingsleepy;whereuponhetookhisnightcapoutofthepocketinwhichhehadhadtheprecautiontostowitinthemorning,and,leisurelyundressinghimself,gotintobedandfellasleep.

           ‘Bravo!Heelovertoecutandshufflepayawayatit,Zephyr!I’msmotherediftheoperahouseisn’tyourproperhemisphere.Keepitup!Hooray!’Theseexpressions,deliveredinamostboisteroustone,andaccompaniedwithloudpealsoflaughter,rousedMr.Pickwickfromoneofthosesoundslumberswhich,lastinginrealitysomehalf-hour,seemtothesleepertohavebeenprotractedforthreeweeksoramonth.

           Thevoicehadnosoonerceasedthantheroomwasshakenwithsuchviolencethatthewindowsrattledintheirframes,andthebedsteadstrembledagain.Mr.Pickwickstartedup,andremainedforsomeminutesfixedinmuteastonishmentatthescenebeforehim.

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