Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Comprising the final Exit of Mr. Jingle and Job Trotter, with a great Morning of business in Gray’s

           I’mherebeforehim,though,soIdon’tmind.’

           Comfortinghimselfwiththisreflection,Mr.Lowtenextractedtheplugfromthedoor-key;havingopenedthedoor,repluggedandrepocketedhisBramah,andpickeduptheletterswhichthepostmanhaddroppedthroughthebox,heusheredMr.Pickwickintotheoffice.Here,inthetwinklingofaneye,hedivestedhimselfofhiscoat,putonathreadbaregarment,whichhetookoutofadesk,hunguphishat,pulledforthafewsheetsofcartridgeandblotting-paperinalternatelayers,and,stickingapenbehindhisear,rubbedhishandswithanairofgreatsatisfaction.

           ‘There,yousee,Mr.Pickwick,’hesaid,‘nowI’mcomplete.I’vegotmyofficecoaton,andmypadout,andlethimcomeassoonashelikes.Youhaven’tgotapinchofsnuffaboutyou,haveyou?’

           ‘No,Ihavenot,’repliedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘I’msorryforit,’saidLowten.‘Nevermind.I’llrunoutpresently,andgetabottleofsoda.Don’tIlookratherqueerabouttheeyes,Mr.Pickwick?’

           Theindividualappealedto,surveyedMr.Lowten’seyesfromadistance,andexpressedhisopinionthatnounusualqueernesswasperceptibleinthosefeatures.

           ‘I’mgladofit,’saidLowten.‘WewerekeepingitupprettytolerablyattheStumplastnight,andI’mratheroutofsortsthismorning.Perker’sbeenaboutthatbusinessofyours,bythebye.’

           ‘Whatbusiness?’inquiredMr.Pickwick.

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