Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Descriptive of an affecting Interview between Mr. Samuel Weller and a Family Party. Mr. Pickwick mak

           Dirty,slipshodwomenpassedandrepassed,ontheirwaytothecooking-houseinonecorneroftheyard;childrenscreamed,andfought,andplayedtogether,inanother;thetumblingoftheskittles,andtheshoutsoftheplayers,mingledperpetuallywiththeseandahundredothersounds;andallwasnoiseandtumultsaveinalittlemiserableshedafewyardsoff,wherelay,allquietandghastly,thebodyoftheChanceryprisonerwhohaddiedthenightbefore,awaitingthemockeryofaninquest.Thebody!Itisthelawyer’stermfortherestless,whirlingmassofcaresandanxieties,affections,hopes,andgriefs,thatmakeupthelivingman.Thelawhadhisbody;andthereitlay,clothedingrave-clothes,anawfulwitnesstoitstendermercy.

           ‘Wouldyouliketoseeawhistling-shop,Sir?’inquiredJobTrotter.

           ‘Whatdoyoumean?’wasMr.Pickwick’scounterinquiry.

           ‘Avistlin’shop,Sir,’interposedMr.Weller.

           ‘Whatisthat,Sam?Abird-fancier’s?’inquiredMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Blessyourheart,no,Sir,’repliedJob;‘awhistling-shop,Sir,iswheretheysellspirits.’Mr.

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