Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

How Mr. Winkle, instead of shooting at the Pigeon and killing the Crow, shot at the Crow and wounded

           Pickwickandhisfriendscoweredinvoluntarilytoescapedamagefromtheheavyfallofrooks,whichtheyfeltquitecertainwouldbeoccasionedbythedevastatingbarreloftheirfriend.Therewasasolemnpauseashoutaflappingofwingsafaintclick.

           ‘Hollo!’saidtheoldgentleman.

           ‘Won’titgo?’inquiredMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Missedfire,’saidMr.Winkle,whowasverypaleprobablyfromdisappointment.

           ‘Odd,’saidtheoldgentleman,takingthegun.‘Neverknewoneofthemmissfirebefore.Why,Idon’tseeanythingofthecap.’‘Blessmysoul!’saidMr.Winkle,‘IdeclareIforgotthecap!’

           Theslightomissionwasrectified.Mr.Pickwickcrouchedagain.Mr.Winklesteppedforwardwithanairofdeterminationandresolution;andMr.Tupmanlookedoutfrombehindatree.Theboyshouted;fourbirdsflewout.Mr.Winklefired.Therewasascreamasofanindividualnotarookincorporalanguish.Mr.Tupmanhadsavedthelivesofinnumerableunoffendingbirdsbyreceivingaportionofthechargeinhisleftarm.

           Todescribetheconfusionthatensuedwouldbeimpossible.TotellhowMr.PickwickinthefirsttransportsofemotioncalledMr.Winkle‘Wretch!’howMr.Tupmanlayprostrateontheground;andhowMr.Winkleknelthorror-strickenbesidehim;howMr.

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