Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Too full of Adventure to be briefly described

           

           Therewasabrightmoon,butitwasbehindtheclouds.itwasafinedrynight,butitwasmostuncommonlydark.Paths,hedges,fields,houses,andtrees,wereenvelopedinonedeepshade.Theatmospherewashotandsultry,thesummerlightningquiveredfaintlyonthevergeofthehorizon,andwastheonlysightthatvariedthedullgloominwhicheverythingwaswrappedsoundtherewasnone,exceptthedistantbarkingofsomerestlesshouse-dog.

           Theyfoundthehouse,readthebrassplate,walkedroundthewall,andstoppedatthatportionofitwhichdividedthemfromthebottomofthegarden.

           ‘Youwillreturntotheinn,Sam,whenyouhaveassistedmeover,’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Werywell,Sir.’

           ‘Andyouwillsitup,tillIreturn.’

           ‘Cert’nly,Sir.’

           ‘Takeholdofmyleg;and,whenIsay"Over,"raisemegently.’

           ‘Allright,sir.’

           Havingsettledthesepreliminaries,Mr.Pickwickgraspedthetopofthewall,andgavetheword‘Over,’whichwasliterallyobeyed.Whetherhisbodypartookinsomedegreeoftheelasticityofhismind,orwhetherMr.Weller’snotionsofagentlepushwereofasomewhatrougherdescriptionthanMr.Pickwick’s,theimmediateeffectofhisassistancewastojerkthatimmortalgentlemancompletelyoverthewallontothebedbeneath,where,aftercrushingthreegooseberry-bushesandarose-tree,hefinallyalightedatfulllength.

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