Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Containing the Story of the Bagman’s Uncle

           Itlookedasifithadoncebeenalargehouseofentertainment;buttheroofhadfallenin,inmanyplaces,andthestairsweresteep,rugged,andbroken.Therewasahugefireplaceintheroomintowhichtheywalked,andthechimneywasblackenedwithsmoke;butnowarmblazelighteditupnow.Thewhitefeatherydustofburnedwoodwasstillstrewedoverthehearth,butthestovewascold,andallwasdarkandgloomy.

           ‘"Well,"saidmyuncle,ashelookedabouthim,"amailtravellingattherateofsixmilesandahalfanhour,andstoppingforanindefinitetimeatsuchaholeasthis,isratheranirregularsortofproceeding,Ifancy.Thisshallbemadeknown.I’llwritetothepapers."

           ‘Myunclesaidthisinaprettyloudvoice,andinanopen,unreservedsortofmanner,withtheviewofengagingthetwostrangersinconversationifhecould.But,neitherofthemtookanymorenoticeofhimthanwhisperingtoeachother,andscowlingathimastheydidso.Theladywasatthefartherendoftheroom,andoncesheventuredtowaveherhand,asifbeseechingmyuncle’sassistance.

           ‘Atlengththetwostrangersadvancedalittle,andtheconversationbeganinearnest.

           ‘"Youdon’tknowthisisaprivateroom,Isuppose,fellow?"saidthegentlemaninsky-blue.

           ‘"No,Idonot,fellow,"rejoinedmyuncle.

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