Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Strongly illustrative of the Position, that the Course of True Love is not a Railway

           

           Thissoundedlikeaverybloodthirstymodeofshowingone’sgratitude;andastheoldladydidnotpreciselyunderstandtheprocessbywhichsucharesultwastobeattained,allherformerhorrorsreturned.

           ‘WhatdoyouthinkIseeinthisveryarbourlastnight?’inquiredtheboy.

           ‘Blessus!What?’exclaimedtheoldlady,alarmedatthesolemnmannerofthecorpulentyouth.

           ‘Thestrangegentlemanhimashadhisarmhurta-kissin’andhuggin’—’

           ‘Who,Joe?Noneoftheservants,Ihope.’‘Worserthanthat,’roaredthefatboy,intheoldlady’sear.

           ‘Notoneofmygrandda’aters?’

           ‘Worserthanthat.’

           ‘Worsethanthat,Joe!’saidtheoldlady,whohadthoughtthistheextremelimitofhumanatrocity.‘Whowasit,Joe?Iinsistuponknowing.’

           Thefatboylookedcautiouslyround,andhavingconcludedhissurvey,shoutedintheoldlady’sear

           ‘MissRachael.’

           ‘What!’saidtheoldlady,inashrilltone.‘Speaklouder.’

           ‘MissRachael,’roaredthefatboy.

           ‘Myda’ater!’

           Thetrainofnodswhichthefatboygavebywayofassent,communicatedablanc-mangelikemotiontohisfatcheeks.

           ‘Andshesufferedhim!’exclaimedtheoldlady.

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