Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

The first Day’s Journey, and the first Evening’s Adventures; with their Consequences

           Thestrangerwasextremelyjocose;andMr.TracyTupman,beingquitebewilderedwithwine,negus,lights,andladies,thoughtthewholeaffairwasanexquisitejoke.Hisnewfrienddeparted;and,afterexperiencingsomeslightdifficultyinfindingtheorificeinhisnightcap,originallyintendedforthereceptionofhishead,andfinallyoverturninghiscandlestickinhisstrugglestoputiton,Mr.TracyTupmanmanagedtogetintobedbyaseriesofcomplicatedevolutions,andshortlyafterwardssankintorepose.

           Seveno’clockhadhardlyceasedstrikingonthefollowingmorning,whenMr.Pickwick’scomprehensivemindwasarousedfromthestateofunconsciousness,inwhichslumberhadplungedit,byaloudknockingathischamberdoor.‘Who’sthere?’saidMr.Pickwick,startingupinbed.

           ‘Boots,sir.’

           ‘Whatdoyouwant?’

           ‘Please,sir,canyoutellmewhichgentlemanofyourpartywearsabrightbluedress-coat,withagiltbuttonwith"P.C."onit?’

           ‘It’sbeengivenouttobrush,’thoughtMr.Pickwick,‘andthemanhasforgottenwhomitbelongsto.’‘Mr.Winkle,‘hecalledout,‘nextroombuttwo,ontherighthand.’‘Thank’ee,sir,’saidtheBoots,andawayhewent.

           ‘What’sthematter?’criedMr.Tupman,asaloudknockingathisdoorrousedhintfromhisobliviousrepose.

           ‘CanIspeaktoMr.Winkle,sir?’repliedBootsfromtheoutside.

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