Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Relates how Mr. Pickwick, with the Assistance of Samuel Weller, essayed to soften the Heart of Mr. B

           

           ‘Oh,deviltakethelaburnum-tree,ma’am!’saidBob,quiteforgettinghisprofessionaldignityinhisanxiety.‘Getonalittlefaster;putalittlemoresteamon,ma’am,pray.’

           ‘Thismorning,’saidtheoldladyslowly—‘thismorning,she—’

           ‘Shecameback,ma’am,Isuppose,’saidBob,withgreatanimation.‘Didshecomeback?’

           ‘No,shedidnot;shewrote,’repliedtheoldlady.

           ‘Whatdidshesay?’inquiredBobeagerly.

           ‘Shesaid,Mr.Sawyer,’repliedtheoldlady—‘anditisthisIwanttoprepareBenjamin’smindfor,gentlyandbydegrees;shesaidthatshewasIhavegottheletterinmypocket,Mr.Sawyer,butmyglassesareinthecarriage,andIshouldonlywasteyourtimeifIattemptedtopointoutthepassagetoyou,withoutthem;shesaid,inshort,Mr.Sawyer,thatshewasmarried.’‘What!’said,orrathershouted,Mr.BobSawyer.

           ‘Married,’repeatedtheoldlady.

           Mr.BobSawyerstoppedtohearnomore;butdartingfromthesurgeryintotheoutershop,criedinastentorianvoice,‘Ben,myboy,she’sbolted!’

           Mr.BenAllen,whohadbeenslumberingbehindthecounter,withhisheadhalfafootorsobelowhisknees,nosoonerheardthisappallingcommunication,thanhemadeaprecipitaterushatMr.

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