Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           Tupman,ferventlygraspinghis‘friend’s’hand—‘carrymybestlove—sayhowhardIfindittodissemble—sayanythingthat’skind:butaddhowsensibleIamofthenecessityofthesuggestionshemadetome,throughyou,thismorning.SayIapplaudherwisdomandadmireherdiscretion.’‘Iwill.Anythingmore?’

           ‘Nothing,onlyaddhowardentlyIlongforthetimewhenImaycallhermine,andalldissimulationmaybeunnecessary.’

           ‘Certainly,certainly.Anythingmore?’

           ‘Oh,myfriend!’saidpoorMr.Tupman,againgraspingthehandofhiscompanion,‘receivemywarmestthanksforyourdisinterestedkindness;andforgivemeifIhaveever,eveninthought,doneyoutheinjusticeofsupposingthatyoucouldstandinmyway.Mydearfriend,canIeverrepayyou?’

           ‘Don’ttalkofit,’repliedMr.Jingle.Hestoppedshort,asifsuddenlyrecollectingsomething,andsaid—‘Bythebye—can’tsparetenpounds,canyou?—veryparticularpurpose—payyouinthreedays.’

           ‘IdaresayIcan,’repliedMr.Tupman,inthefulnessofhisheart.‘Threedays,yousay?’

           ‘Onlythreedays—alloverthen—nomoredifficulties.’Mr.Tupmancountedthemoneyintohiscompanion’shand,andhedroppeditpiecebypieceintohispocket,astheywalkedtowardsthehouse.

           ‘Becareful,’saidMr.Jingle—‘notalook.’

           ‘Notawink,’saidMr.Tupman

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