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

           

           Ontheflooroftheroom,amaninabroad-skirtedgreencoat,withcorduroyknee-smallsandgraycottonstockings,wasperformingthemostpopularstepsofahornpipe,withaslangandburlesquecaricatureofgraceandlightness,which,combinedwiththeveryappropriatecharacterofhiscostume,wasinexpressiblyabsurd.Anotherman,evidentlyverydrunk,whohadprobablybeentumbledintobedbyhiscompanions,wassittingupbetweenthesheets,warblingasmuchashecouldrecollectofacomicsong,withthemostintenselysentimentalfeelingandexpression;whileathird,seatedononeofthebedsteads,wasapplaudingbothperformerswiththeairofaprofoundconnoisseur,andencouragingthembysuchebullitionsoffeelingashadalreadyrousedMr.Pickwickfromhissleep.

           Thislastmanwasanadmirablespecimenofaclassofgentrywhichnevercanbeseeninfullperfectionbutinsuchplacestheymaybemetwith,inanimperfectstate,occasionallyaboutstable-yardsandPublic-houses;buttheyneverattaintheirfullbloomexceptinthesehot-beds,whichwouldalmostseemtobeconsideratelyprovidedbythelegislatureforthesolepurposeofrearingthem.

           Hewasatallfellow,withanolivecomplexion,longdarkhair,andverythickbushywhiskersmeetingunderhischin.Heworenoneckerchief,ashehadbeenplayingracketsallday,andhisOpenshirtcollardisplayedtheirfullluxuriance.

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