Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Too full of Adventure to be briefly described

           

           ‘Thetwopennyrope,sir,’repliedMr.Weller,‘isjustacheaplodgin’house,wherethebedsistwopenceanight.’

           ‘Whatdotheycallabedaropefor?’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Blessyourinnocence,sir,thatain’tit,’repliedSam.‘Ventheladyandgen’l’m’naskeepsthehot-elfirstbegunbusiness,theyusedtomakethebedsonthefloor;butthiswouldn’tdoatnoprice,‘cosinsteado’takingamoderatetwopenn’ortho’sleep,thelodgersusedtolietherehalftheday.Sonowtheyhastworopes,‘boutsixfootapart,andthreefromthefloor,whichgoesrightdowntheroom;andthebedsaremadeofslipsofcoarsesacking,stretchedacross’em.’

           ‘Well,’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Well,’saidMr.Weller,‘theadwantageo’theplan’shobvious.Atsixo’clockeverymornin’theylet’sgotheropesatoneend,anddownfallsthelodgers.Consequenceis,thatbeingthoroughlywaked,theygetupweryquietly,andwalkaway!Begyourpardon,sir,’saidSam,suddenlybreakingoffinhisloquaciousdiscourse.‘IsthisBurySt.Edmunds?’

           ‘Itis,’repliedMr.Pickwick.

           Thecoachrattledthroughthewell-pavedstreetsofahandsomelittletown,ofthrivingandcleanlyappearance,andstoppedbeforealargeinnsituatedinawideopenstreet,nearlyfacingtheoldabbey.

           ‘Andthis,’saidMr.Pickwick,lookingup.‘IstheAngel!Wealighthere,Sam.

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