Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Too full of Adventure to be briefly described

           

           ‘Youha’n’thurtyourself,Ihope,Sir?’saidSam,inaloudwhisper,assoonashehadrecoveredfromthesurpriseconsequentuponthemysteriousdisappearanceofhismaster.

           ‘IhavenothurtMYSELF,Sam,certainly,’repliedMr.Pickwick,fromtheothersideofthewall,‘butIratherthinkthatYOUhavehurtme.’

           ‘Ihopenot,Sir,’saidSam.

           ‘Nevermind,’saidMr.Pickwick,rising,‘it’snothingbutafewscratches.Goaway,orweshallbeoverheard.’

           ‘Good-bye,Sir.’

           ‘Good-bye.’

           WithstealthystepsSamWellerdeparted,leavingMr.Pickwickaloneinthegarden.

           Lightsoccasionallyappearedinthedifferentwindowsofthehouse,orglancedfromthestaircases,asiftheinmateswereretiringtorest.Notcaringtogotoonearthedoor,untiltheappointedtime,Mr.Pickwickcrouchedintoanangleofthewall,andawaiteditsarrival.

           Itwasasituationwhichmightwellhavedepressedthespiritsofmanyaman.Mr.Pickwick,however,feltneitherdepressionnormisgiving.Heknewthathispurposewasinthemainagoodone,andheplacedimplicitrelianceonthehigh-mindedJob.itwasdull,certainly;nottosaydreary;butacontemplativemancanalwaysemployhimselfinmeditation.Mr.Pickwickhadmeditatedhimselfintoadoze,whenhewasrousedbythechimesoftheneighbouringchurchringingoutthehourhalf-pasteleven.

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