Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

The first Day’s Journey, and the first Evening’s Adventures; with their Consequences

           

           ‘Here’salark!’shoutedhalfadozenhackneycoachmen.‘Gotovork,Sam!andtheycrowdedwithgreatgleeroundtheparty.

           ‘What’stherow,Sam?’inquiredonegentlemaninblackcalicosleeves.

           ‘Row!’repliedthecabman,‘whatdidhewantmynumberfor?’‘Ididn’twantyournumber,’saidtheastonishedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Whatdidyoutakeitfor,then?’inquiredthecabman.

           ‘Ididn’ttakeit,’saidMr.Pickwickindignantly.

           ‘Wouldanybodybelieve,’continuedthecab-driver,appealingtothecrowd,‘wouldanybodybelieveasaninformer’udgoaboutinaman’scab,notonlytakin’downhisnumber,butev’rywordhesaysintothebargain’(alightflasheduponMr.Pickwickitwasthenote-book).

           ‘Didhethough?’inquiredanothercabman.

           ‘Yes,didhe,’repliedthefirst;‘andthenarteraggerawatin’metoassaulthim,getsthreewitnessesheretoproveit.ButI’llgiveithim,ifI’vesixmonthsforit.Comeon!’andthecabmandashedhishatupontheground,witharecklessdisregardofhisownprivateproperty,andknockedMr.Pickwick’sspectaclesoff,andfolloweduptheattackwithablowonMr.Pickwick’snose,andanotheronMr.Pickwick’schest,andathirdinMr.Snodgrass’seye,andafourth,bywayofvariety,inMr.

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