Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Too full of Adventure to be briefly described

           ‘Ihopeyouarethesame,Sir?’

           ‘Why,ifIfeltlesslikeawalkingbrandy-bottleIshouldn’tbequitesostaggerythismornin’,’repliedSam.‘Areyoustoppin’inthishouse,old’un?’

           Themulberrymanrepliedintheaffirmative.

           ‘Howwasityouworn’toneofus,lastnight?’inquiredSam,scrubbinghisfacewiththetowel.‘Youseemoneofthejollysortlooksasconwivialasalivetroutinalimebasket,’addedMr.Weller,inanundertone.

           ‘Iwasoutlastnightwithmymaster,’repliedthestranger.

           ‘What’shisname?’inquiredMr.Weller,colouringupveryredwithsuddenexcitement,andthefrictionofthetowelcombined.

           ‘Fitz–Marshall,’saidthemulberryman.

           ‘Giveusyourhand,’saidMr.Weller,advancing;‘Ishouldliketoknowyou.Ilikeyourappearance,oldfellow.’

           ‘Well,thatisverystrange,’saidthemulberryman,withgreatsimplicityofmanner.‘Ilikeyourssomuch,thatIwantedtospeaktoyou,fromtheveryfirstmomentIsawyouunderthepump.’‘Didyouthough?’

           ‘Uponmyword.Now,isn’tthatcurious?’

           ‘Werysing’ler,’saidSam,inwardlycongratulatinghimselfuponthesoftnessofthestranger.‘What’syourname,mypatriarch?’

           ‘Job.’

           ‘Andawerygoodnameitis;onlyoneIknowthatain’tgotanicknametoit.

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