Involving another Journey, and an Antiquarian Discovery; Recording Mr. Pickwick’s Determination to b

           AnightofquietandreposeintheprofoundsilenceofDingleyDell,andanhour’sbreathingofitsfreshandfragrantairontheensuingmorning,completelyrecoveredMr.Pickwickfromtheeffectsofhislatefatigueofbodyandanxietyofmind.Thatillustriousmanhadbeenseparatedfromhisfriendsandfollowersfortwowholedays;anditwaswithadegreeofpleasureanddelight,whichnocommonimaginationcanadequatelyconceive,thathesteppedforwardtogreetMr.WinkleandMr.Snodgrass,asheencounteredthosegentlemenonhisreturnfromhisearlywalk.Thepleasurewasmutual;forwhocouldevergazeonMr.Pickwick’sbeamingfacewithoutexperiencingthesensation?Butstillacloudseemedtohangoverhiscompanionswhichthatgreatmancouldnotbutbesensibleof,andwaswhollyatalosstoaccountfor.Therewasamysteriousairaboutthemboth,asunusualasitwasalarming.

           ‘Andhow,’saidMr.Pickwick,whenhehadgraspedhisfollowersbythehand,andexchangedwarmsalutationsofwelcome—‘howisTupman?’

           Mr.Winkle,towhomthequestionwasmorepeculiarlyaddressed,madenoreply.Heturnedawayhishead,andappearedabsorbedinmelancholyreflection.

           ‘Snodgrass,’saidMr.Pickwickearnestly,‘howisourfriendheisnotill?’

           ‘No,’repliedMr.Snodgrass;andateartrembledonhissentimentaleyelid,likearain-droponawindow-frame–‘no;heisnotill.’

           Mr.

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