Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A Discovery and a Chase

           Hepaused,andlaiddownhisfork.Mr.Wardlepausedtoo,andinsensiblyreleasedhisholdofthecarving-knife,whichremainedinsertedinthebeef.HelookedatMr.Pickwick.Mr.Pickwicklookedathim.

           Heavyfootstepswereheardinthepassage;theparlourdoorwassuddenlyburstopen;andthemanwhohadcleanedMr.Pickwick’sbootsonhisfirstarrival,rushedintotheroom,followedbythefatboyandallthedomestics.‘Whatthedevil’sthemeaningofthis?’exclaimedthehost.

           ‘Thekitchenchimneyain’ta-fire,isit,Emma?’inquiredtheoldlady.‘Lor,grandma!No,’screamedboththeyoungladies.

           ‘What’sthematter?’roaredthemasterofthehouse.

           Themangaspedforbreath,andfaintlyejaculated

           ‘Theyha’gone,mas’r!gonerightcleanoff,Sir!’(AtthisjunctureMr.Tupmanwasobservedtolaydownhisknifeandfork,andtoturnverypale.)

           ‘Who’sgone?’saidMr.Wardlefiercely.

           ‘Mus’rJingleandMissRachael,inapo’-chay,fromBlueLion,Muggleton.Iwasthere;butIcouldn’tstop’em;soIrunofftotell‘ee.’

           ‘Ipaidhisexpenses!’saidMr.Tupman,jumpingupfrantically.

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