Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

An old-fashioned Card-party — The Clergyman’s verses — The Story of the Convict’s Return

           Therewerestrangefacesinalmosteveryhouse;insomeherecognisedtheburlyformofsomeoldschoolfellowaboywhenhelastsawhimsurroundedbyatroopofmerrychildren;inothershesaw,seatedinaneasy-chairatacottagedoor,afeebleandinfirmoldman,whomheonlyrememberedasahaleandheartylabourer;buttheyhadallforgottenhim,andhepassedonunknown.

           ‘Thelastsoftlightofthesettingsunhadfallenontheearth,castingarichglowontheyellowcornsheaves,andlengtheningtheshadowsoftheorchardtrees,ashestoodbeforetheoldhousethehomeofhisinfancytowhichhishearthadyearnedwithanintensityofaffectionnottobedescribed,throughlongandwearyyearsofcaptivityandsorrow.Thepalingwaslow,thoughhewellrememberedthetimethatithadseemedahighwalltohim;andhelookedoverintotheoldgarden.Thereweremoreseedsandgayerflowersthanthereusedtobe,butthereweretheoldtreesstilltheverytreeunderwhichhehadlainathousandtimeswhentiredofplayinginthesun,andfeltthesoft,mildsleepofhappyboyhoodstealgentlyuponhim.Therewerevoiceswithinthehouse.Helistened,buttheyfellstrangelyuponhisear;heknewthemnot.Theyweremerrytoo;andhewellknewthathispooroldmothercouldnotbecheerful,andheaway.Thedooropened,andagroupoflittlechildrenboundedout,shoutingandromping.

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