Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Clearing up all Doubts (if any existed) of the Disinterestedness of Mr. A. Jingle’s Character

           

           HewasyetonhiswaytotheWhiteHart,whentwoplumpgentlemanandonethinoneenteredtheyard,andlookedroundinsearchofsomeauthorisedpersonofwhomtheycouldmakeafewinquiries.Mr.SamuelWellerhappenedtobeatthatmomentengagedinburnishingapairofpaintedtops,thepersonalpropertyofafarmerwhowasrefreshinghimselfwithaslightlunchoftwoorthreepoundsofcoldbeefandapotortwoofporter,afterthefatiguesoftheBoroughmarket;andtohimthethingentlemanstraightwayadvanced.

           ‘Myfriend,’saidthethingentleman.

           ‘You’reoneo’theadwicegratisorder,’thoughtSam,‘oryouwouldn’tbesoweryfondo’meallatonce.’Butheonlysaid‘Well,Sir.’

           ‘Myfriend,’saidthethingentleman,withaconciliatoryhem‘haveyougotmanypeoplestoppingherenow?Prettybusy.Eh?’

           Samstolealookattheinquirer.Hewasalittlehigh-driedman,withadarksqueezed-upface,andsmall,restless,blackeyes,thatkeptwinkingandtwinklingoneachsideofhislittleinquisitivenose,asiftheywereplayingaperpetualgameofpeep-bowiththatfeature.Hewasdressedallinblack,withbootsasshinyashiseyes,alowwhiteneckcloth,andacleanshirtwithafrilltoit.Agoldwatch-chain,andseals,dependedfromhisfob.

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